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WORKS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



POEMS. With Memoir and Portrait. (British Poets Edition.) 

9 vols. i6mo $ 9.00 

Do. Red-Line Edition. Illustrated. Full gilt. Small 4to 3.50 

Do. Diamond Edition i .00 



SEPARATE WORKS. 

MA RMION. I vol. i6mo % 1.25 

THE LADY OF THE LAKE, i vol. i6mo 1.25 

THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, i vol. 
i6mo 1-25 



%• For sale by all Booksellers. Sent, post-paid, on receipt 0/ price by 
the Publishers, 

HOUGHTON, OSGOOD & CO., Boston. | 



THE 



POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



SIR WALTER SCOTT/ 

BARONET. 



COMPLETE EDITION. 




BOSTON : 
HOUGHTON, OSGOOD AND COMPANY. 

1879. 



tenley! 



.E7i 



University Press : Welch, Bigelow, & Co., 
Cambridc£. 



«=PT. 10. 1940 ^ 



/"x \j 






DwTRiOT OP COLUMBIA P?;^^/,^-;^^^ 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

The Lay of the Last Minstrel i 

Marmion 40 

The Lady of the Lake no 

The Vision of Don Roderick 168 

KOKEBY 188 

1 HE Lord of the Isles 244 

The Bridal of Triermain 299 

The Field of Waterloo 326 

^^arold the Dauntless 333 

C^Sallads Translated or Imitated, from the German, &c. 

*""" William and Helen 367 

_^-^ The Wild Huntsman 371 

^^ The Fire- King . 374 

. Frederick and Alice 377 

* The Battle of Sempach 378 

-Y~. The Noble Moringer 380 

'-^ The Erl-King 384 

LU 

TTiALLADS. 

\mtmm Glenfinlas 385 

The Eve of St. John 388 

Cadyow Castle 391 

The Gray Brother 394 

Bothwell Castle 395 

» The Shepherd's Tale v *?' 396 

3 Cheviot .WTKI .';\^7.4' > 398 

The Reiver's Wedding '.'^.' . .... •.- .' -..i . i? 398 

y-\ Christie's Will ^ ■% •.«,". f. ''.".'.» . , • 400 

War-Song Q^ the Royal Edinburgh Light pragooijs 401 

SOKGS FROM the NoVELS. '• * ' 

From Waverley 402 

Flora Maclvor's song 404 

To an Oak-Tree ' 405 

From Guy Mannering 406 

From The Antiquary 406 

Epitaph 407 

From Rob Roy 408 

To the Memory of Edward the Black Prince 408 

Translation from Ariosto 408 



CONTENTS. 

From Old Mortality 408 

Verses found, with a lock of hair, in Bothwell's pocket-book . . . 408 

Epitaph on Balfour of Burlej 409 

From A Legend of Montrose 409 

Annot Lyle's Song 409 

The Orphan Maid 409 

Gaelic Song 410 

From The Heart of Midlothian 410 

Madge Wildfire's Songs 410 

From The Bride of Lammermoor 411 

From Ivanhoe 412 

The Crusader's Return 412 

The Barefooted Friar 412 

Rebecca's Hymn 413 

The Black Knight and Wamba 414 

Knight and Wamba 414 

Funeral Hymn 415 

From The Monastery • 415 

Border Song - 415 

Songs of the White Lady of Avenel 415 

To the Sub-Prior 416 

Halbert's Incantation 417 

To Halbert 417 

To the Same 419 

To Mary Avenel 419 

To Edward Glendinning 420 

The White Lady's Farewell 420 

From The Abbot 420 

From Kenilworth 420 

Goldthred's Song 420 

Speech of the Porter to the Queen _ 421 

Translation from the Orlando Innamorato of Boiardo 421 

From The Pirate 421 

The Song of the Tempest 421 

Halcro's Song • 422 

The Song of Harold Harfager 422 

Song of the Mermaids and Mermen 423 

Noma's Verses 423 

Halcro and Noma 424 

The Fishermen's Song 425 

Cleveland's Songs 426 

Halcro's Verses 426 

Noma's Incantations 427 

Bryce Snailsfoot's Advertisement 428 

From The Fortunes of Nigel 429 

Nigel's Initiation at Whitefriars 429 

From Quentin Durward 429 

Song — County Guy 429 

From Redgauntlet 429 

A Catch of Cowley's altered 429 

From The Betrothed 43° 

Song — Soldier Wake . 43° 

Song — Woman's Faith 4.30 

Song — I asked of my Harp 43° 



CONTENTS. vii 

From The Talisman • . . . . 431 

The Bloody Vest 432 

From Woodstock • . . . . 433 

Glee for King Charles 434 

An Hour with Thee 434 

Translation from Horace's Art of Poetry 434 

From The Fair Maid of Perth 434 

The Lay of Poor Louise " 434 

Death Chant 435 

From Anne of Geierstein 435 

The Secret Tribunal 435 

iSONGS FROM THE PlAYS. 

The Sun upon the Lake 436 

We love the Shrill Trumpet 436 

Admire not that I gained 437 

When the Tempest 437 

O, Robin Hood was a Bowman Good 437 

Bonny Dundee 437 

When Friends are met 438 

Hither we come 439 

Joy to the Victors 439 

Rhein-Wein Lied . ; 439 

JIlSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

On the Setting Sun 440 

The Violet 440 

To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman Wall 440 

The Bard's Incantation 440 

Hellvellyn 441 

The Dying Bard 442 

The Norman Horseshoe 443 

The Maid of Toro 443 

The Palmer 444 

The Maid of Neidpath 444 

Wandering Willie 444 

Hunting Song 445 

Song 446 

On the Massacre of Glencoe 446 

Lines addressed to Ranald Macdonald, Esq., of Staffa 447 

Letter in Verse, on the Voyage with the Commissioners of Northern 

Lights 447 

Postscnptum 449 

Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail 450 

Imitation of the Preceding Song 450 

War-Song of Lachlan, High Chief of MacLean 450 

Saint Cloud 451 

The Dance of Death 452 

Romance of Dunois 453 

The Troubadour 454 

Song, on the lifting of the Banner of the House of Buccleugh . . 454 

Lullaby of an Infant Chief. 455 

The Return to Ulster 455 

Jock of Hazeldean 456 

Pibroch of Donald Dhu 457 



CONTENTS. 

Macgregor's Gathering 457 

Nora's Vow 458 

The Foray 458 

The Monks of Bangor's March 459 

The Sun upon the Weird-Law Hill 459 

Mackrimmon's Lament 460 

Donald Caird 's come again 460 

On Ettrick Forest's Mountains dun 461 

The Maid of Isla 461 

Farewell to the Muse 462 

The Bannatyne Club 462 

The Bold Dragoon ; or, the Plain of Badajos 463 

For a' that an' a' that 464 

Carle, now the King 's come 465 

The Resolve 467 

Epitaph, designed for a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral, at the 

Burial-Place of the Family of Miss Seward 467 

Prologue to Miss Baillie's Play of The Family Legend 468 

Epilogue to The Appeal 468 

Epilogue to the Drama founded on " St Ronan's Well " 469 

Epilogue 470 

Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address, on Taking Leave of the Edinburgh 

Stage 471 

Lines written for Miss Smith 472 

The Search After Happiness ; or, The Quest of Sultaun Solimaun . . 472 

Lines addressed to Monsieur Alexandre, the Celebrated Ventriloquist 478 

Verses, on the Grand-Duke Nicholas of Russia 479 

From the French 479 

Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine 479 

Inscription for the Monument of the Rev. George Scott 479 

Pharos Loquitur 480 

The Poacher 480 

The Death of Keeldar 482 

Juvenile Lines 4^3 

From Virgil 483 

On a Thunder-Storm 484 

On the Setting Sun 484 

Health to Lord Melville 484 

The Author of Waverley 4^5 

Note to his Grace the Duke of Buccleugh 485 

To J. G. Lockhart, Esq., on the Composition of Maida's Epitaph . . 485 

Life of Napoleon 486 

Doggerel, on leaving Mrs. Brown's Lodgings 486 

Lines to Sir Cuthbert Sharp 487 

Lines on Fortune 487 

The Death of Don Pedro 487 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The Poem now offered to the Public is intended to illustrate the customs and 
manners which anciently prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The 
inhabitants, living in aetata partly pastoral and partly warlike, and combining 
habits of constant depredation with the influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were 
often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornament. As the description 
of scenery and manners was more the object of the Author than a combined and 
regular narrative, the plan of the Ancient Metrical Romance was adopted, which 
allows greater latitude, in this respect, than would be consistent with the dignity 
of a regular Poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it permits an 
occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, authorizes the change of 
rhythm in the text. The machinery, also, adopted from popular belief, would 
have seemed puerile in a Poem which did not partake of the rudeness of the old 
Ballad, or Metrical Romance. 

For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the 
last of the race, who, as he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might 
have caught somewhat of the refinement of modern poetry, without losinjj the 
simplicity of his original model. The date of the Tale itself is about the middle 
of the sixteenth century, when most of the personages actually flourished. The 
time occupied in the action is Three Nights and Three Days. 



INTRODUCTION. 

The way was long, the wind was cold, 
The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 
His withered cheek, and tresses gray, 
Seemed to have known a better day ; 
The harp, his sole remaining joy, 
Was carried by an orphan boy. 
The last of all the Bards was he, 
Who sung of Border chivalry ; 
For, well-a-day I their date was fled, 
His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 
And he, neglected and oppressed. 
Wished to be with them, and at rest. 
No more on prancing palfrey borne, 
He carolled light as lark at mom ; 
No longer courted and caressed. 
High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 



He poured, to lord and lady gay. 

The unpremeditated lay : 

Old times were changed, old manners 

gone ; 
A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne ; 
The bigots of the iron time 
Had called his harmless art a crime. 
A wandering Harper, scorned and poor, 
He begged his bread from door to door. 
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear, 
The harp a king had loved to hear. 

He passed where Newark's stately 
tower 
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bow- 
er : 
The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye — 
No humbler resting-place was nigh ; 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



With hesitating step, at last, 

The embattled portal arch he passed, 

Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 

Had oft rolled back the tide of war, 

But never closed the iron door 

Against the desolate and poor. 

The Duchess marked his weary pace, 

His timid mien, and reverend face, 

And bade her page the menials tell 

That they should tend the old man 

well : 
For she had known adversity. 
Though born in such a high degree ; 
In pride of power, in beauty's bloom. 
Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody 

tomb ! 

When kindness had his wants sup- 
plied. 
And the old man was gratified. 
Began to rise his minstrel pride ; 
And he began to talk anon, 
Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone. 
And of Earl Walter, rest him, God ! 
A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 
And how full many a tale he knew 
Of the old warriors of Buccleuch : 
And, would the noble Duchess deign 
To listen to an old man's strain. 
Though stiff his hand, his voice though 

weak. 
He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 
That, if she loved the harp to hear. 
He could make music to her ear. 

The humble boon was soon obtained ; 
The Aged Minstrel audience gained. 
But, when he reached the room of state, 
Where she, with all her ladies, sate. 
Perchance he wished his boon denied : 
For, when to tune his harp he tried, 
His trembling hand had lost the ease 
Which marks security to please ; 
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, 
Came wildering o'er his aged brain, — 
He tried to tune his harp in vain ! 
The pitying Duchess praised its chime. 
And gave him heart, and gave him 

time. 
Till every string's according glee 
Was blended into harmony. 
And then, he said, he would full fain 
He could recall an ancient strain 
He never thought to sing again. 



It was not framed for village churls. 
But for high dames and mighty earls ; 
He had played it to King Charles the 

Good, 
When he kept court in Holyrood ; 
And much he wished, yet feared, to 

try 
The long-forgotten melody. 
Amid the strings his fingers strayed, 
And an uncertain warbling made. 
And oft he shook his hoary head. 
But when he caught the measure wild. 
The old man raised his face, and smiled. 
And lightened up his faded eye, 
With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
He swept the sounding chords along : 
The present scene, the future lot. 
His toils, his i^Snts, were all forgot : 
Cold diffidence, and age's frost. 
In the full tide of song were lost ; 
Each blank in faithless memory void, 
The poet's glowing thought supplied : 
And, while his harp responsive rung, 
'T was thus the Latest Minstrel 

sung. 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 



The feast was over in Branksome tow- 
er. 

And the Ladye had gone to her secret 
bower ; 

Her bower that was guarded by word 
and by spell, 

Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell, — 

Jesu Maria, shield us well ! 

No living wight, save the Ladye alone. 

Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 



The tables were drawn, it was idlesse 
all; 

Knight, and page, and household 
squire. 
Loitered through the lofty hall, 

Or crowded round the ample fire ; 
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase. 

Lay stretched upon the rushy floor. 
And urged, in dreams, the forest race, 

From Teviot stone to Eskdale moor. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 
Hung iheir shields in Branksome 
Hall ; 
Nine-and-twenty squires of name 
Brought them their steeds to bower 
from stall ; 
Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall 
Waited, duteous, on them all : 
They were all knights of metal 
true, 
Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 



Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 
With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
They quitted not their harness bright, 
Neither by day, nor yet by night ; 

They lay down to rest, 

With corselet laced, 
Pillowed on buckler cold and hard ; 

They carved at the meal 

With gloves of steel, 
And they drank the red wine through 
the helmet barred. 



Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, 
Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight. 
Stood saddled in stable day and night, 
Barbed with frontlet of steel, I trow. 
And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow : 
A hundred more fed free in stall ; — 
Such was the custom of Branksome 
Hall. 

VI. 

Why do these steeds stand ready dight ? 

Why watch these warriors, armed, by 
night? 

They watch to hear the bloodhound 
baying : 

They watch to hear the war-horn bray- 
ing : 

To see St. George's red cross streaming. 

To see the midnight beacon gleaming ; 

They watch, against Southern force 
and guile. 
Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's 

powers. 
Threaten Branksome's lordly towers, 

From Warkworth, or Naworth, or mer- 
ry Carlisle. 



Such is the custom of Branksome H2II. 

Many a valiant knight is here ; 
But he, the chieftain of them all, 
His sword hangs rusting on the wall. 
Beside his broken spear. 
Bards long shall tell 
How Lord Walter fell ! 
When startled burghers fled, afar. 
The furies of the Border war ; 
When the streets of high Dunedin 
Saw lances gleam, and falchions red- 
den, 
And heard the slogan's deadly yell, — 
Then the chief of Branksome fell. 



Can piety the discord heal, 

Or stanch the death-feud's enmity ? 
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, 

Can love of blessed charity? 
No ! vainly to each holy shrine 

In mutual pilgrimage they drew ; 
Implored, in vain, the grace divine 

For chiefs their own red falchions 
slew ; 
While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, 
The slaughtered cliiefs, the mortal jar, 
The havoc of the feudal war. 

Shall iTiever, never be forgot ! 



In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 

The warlike foresters had bent ; 
And many a flower, and many a tear, 

Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent ; 
But o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
The Ladye dropped nor flowernor tearl 
Vengeance deep-brooding o'er the slain. 

Had locked the source of softer woe ; 
And burning pride, and high disdain. 

Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
Until, amid his sorrowing clan, 

Her son lisped from the nurse's knee, 
" And if I live to be a man. 

My father's death revenged shall 
be!" 
Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 

X. 

All loose her negligent attire, 
All loose her golden hair, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered 
sire, 

And wept in wild despair. 
But not alone the bitter tear 

Had filial grief supplied ; 
For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 

Had lent their mingled tide : 
Nor in her mother's altered eye 
Dared she to look for sympathy. 
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, 

With Carr in arms had stood, 
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran 

All purple with their blood ; 
And well she knew, her mother dread. 
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed, 
Would see her on her dying bed. 

XI. 

Of noble race the Ladye came. 
Her father was a clerk of fame, 

Of Bethune's line of Picardie : 
He learned the art that none may name, 

In Padua, far beyond the sea. 
Men said he changed his mortal frame 

By feat of magic mystery ; 
For when in studious mood he paced 

St. Andrew's cloistered hall. 
His form no darkening shadow traced 

Upon the sunny wall I 

XII. 

And of his skill, as bards avow, 

He taught that Ladye fair. 
Till to her bidding she could bow 

The viewless forms of air. 
And now she sits in secret bower. 
In old Lord David's western tower, 
And listens to a heavy sound, 
That moans the mossy turrets round. 
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide. 
That chafes against the scaur's red 

side ? 
Is it the wind that swings the oaks ? 
Is it the echo from the rocks? 
What may it be, the heavy sound, 
That moans old Branksome's turrets 
round ? 

XIII. 

At the sullen, moaning sound. 
The ban-dogs bay and howl ; 

And from the turrets round, 
Loud whoops the startled owl. 

In the hall, both squire and knight 
Swore that a storm was near, 



And looked forth to view the night ; 
But the night was still and clear. 



From the sound of Teviot's tide. 
Chafing with the mountain's side. 
From the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
From the sullen echo of the rock, 
From the voice of the coming storm. 

The Ladye knew it well ! 
It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, 

And he called on the Spirit of the 
Fell. 

XV. 

RIVER SPIRIT. 

" Sleep'st thou, brother ? " — 

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

" Brother, nay, — 
On my hills the moonbeams play. 
From Craik-cross to Skelf hill-pen, 
By every rill, in every glen, 
Merry elves their morris pacing, 

To aerial minstrelsy. 
Emerald rings on brown heath tra- 
cing. 
Trip it deft and merrily. 
Up, and mark their nimble feet ! 
Up, and list their music sweet ! " 



RIVER SPIRIT. 

" Tears of an imprisoned maiden 
Mix with my polluted stream ; 

Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden. 
Mourns beneath the moon's pale 
beam. 

Tell me. thou who view'st the stars. 

When shall cease these feudal jars? 

What shall be the maiden's fate? 

Who shall be the maiden's mate?" 

XVII. 
MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 

" Arthur's slow wain his course doth 

roll. 
In utter darkness, round the pole ; 
The Northern Bear lowers black and 

grim ; 
Orion's studded belt is dim ; 
Twinkling faint, and distant far. 
Shimmers through mist each planet 

star; 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Ill may I read their high decree ! 
But no kind influence deign they shower 
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's 
tower, 
Till pride be quelled, and love be 
free." 



The unearthly voices ceast. 

And the heavy sound was still ; 
It died on the river's breast. 

It died on the side of the hill. 
But round Lord David's tower 

The sound still floated near ; 
For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 

And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
She raised her stately head, 

And her heart throbbed high with 
pride : — 
" Your mountains shall bend, 
And your streams ascend. 

Ere Margaret be our foeman'sbride 1" 



The Ladye sought the lofty hall. 

Where many a bold retainer lay. 
And, with jocund din, among them all, 

Her son pursued his infant play. 
A fancied moss-trooper, the boy 

The truncheon of a spear bestrode. 
And round the hall right merrily 

In mimic foray rode. 
Even bearded knights, in arms grown 
old. 

Share in his frolic gambols bore. 
Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, 

Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
For the gray warriors prophesied, 

How the brave boy, in future war. 
Should tame the Unicorn's pride. 

Exalt the Crescent and the Star. 



The Ladye forgot her purpose high, 
One moment, and no more ; 

One moment gazed with a mother's eye. 
As she paused at the arched door : 

Then, from amid the armed train. 

She called to her William of Deloraine. 



A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, 
As e'er couched Border lance by knee ; 



Through Sol way sands, through Tarras 

moss, 
Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross ; 
By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
Had baffled Percy's best bloodhounds ; 
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none. 
But he would ride them, one by one ; 
Alike to him was time or tide, 
December's snow, or July's pride ; 
Alike to him was tide or time, 
Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 
Steady of heart, and stout of hand, 
As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
Five times outlawed had he been, 
By England's King, and Scotland's 

Queen. 

XXII. 

" Sir William of Deloraine, good at 

neec'.. 
Mount thee on the wightest steed ; 
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride. 
Until thou come to fair Tweed side ; 
And in Melrose's holy pile 
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 
Greet the Father well from me ; 

Say that the fated hour is come. 
And to-night he shall watch with thee, 
To win the treasure of the tomb ; 
For this will be St. Michael's night, 
And, though stars be dim, the moon 

is bright ; 
And the Cross, of bloody red. 
Will point to the grave of the mighty 
dead. 

XXIII. 

" What he gives thee, see thou keep, 
Stay not thou for food or sleep ; 
Be it scroll, or be it book. 
Into it, Knight, thou must not look ; 
If thou readest, thou art lorn ! 
Better hadst thou ne'er been born ! " 



" O, swiftly can speed my dapple-gray 
steed, 

Which drinks of the Teviot clear ; 
Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, 

"Again will I be here ; 
And safer by none may thy errand ba 
done. 

Than, noble dame, by me : 
Letter nor line know I never a one. 

Were 't my neck-verse at Hairibee." 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Soon in his saddle sat he fast, 
And soon the steep descent he past, 
Soon crossed the sounding barbican, 
And soon the Teviot side he won. 
Eastward the wooded path he rode. 
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ; 
He passed the Peel of Goldiland, 
And crossed old Borthwick's roaring 

strand ; 
Dimly he vie wed the Moat-hill's mound, 
Where Druid shades still flitted round ; 
In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
Behind him soon they set in night ; 
And soon he spurred his courser keen 
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. 



The clattering hoofs the watchmen 

mark : — 
"Stand, ho! thou courierofthe dark." — 
" For Branksome, ho ! " the knight re- 
joined, 
And left the friendly tower behind. 
He turned him now from Teviot side, 

And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
Northward the dark ascent did ride. 
And gained the moor at Horsliehill ; 
Broad on the left before him lay, 
For many a mile, the Roman way. 



A moment now he slacked his speed, 
A moment breathed his panting steed ; 
Drew saddle-girth and corselet-band. 
And loosened in the sheath his brand. 
On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, 
Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint ; 
Who flung Ills outlawed limbs to rest. 
Where falcons hang their giddy nest. 
Mid cliffs from whence his eagle eye 
For many a league his prey could spy ; 
Cliffs, doubhng, on their echoes borne, 
The terrors of the robber's horn ; 
Cliffs which, for many a later year. 
The warbling Doric reed shall hear. 
When some sad swain shall teach the 

grove. 
Ambition is no cure for love ! 



Unchallenged, thence passed Deloraine, 
To ancient Riddel's fair domain, 



Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
Down from the lakes did raving come ; 
Each wave was crested with tawny foam, 

Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
In vain ! no torrent, deep or broad. 
Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. 



At the first plunge the horse sunk low. 
And the water broke o'er the saddle- 
bow ; 
Above the foaming tide, I ween, 
Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 
For he was barded from counter to tail. 
And the rider was armed complete in 

mail ; 
Never heavier man and horse 
Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. 
The warrior's very plume, I say. 
Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 
Yet, through good heart, and Our 

Ladye's grace. 
At length he gained the landing-place. 



Now Bowden Moor the march-man 
won. 

And sternly shook his plumed head, 
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ; 

For on his soul the slaughter red 
Of that unhallowed mom arose, 
When first the Scott and Carr were foes ; 
When royal James beheld the fray. 
Prize to the victor of the day, 
When Home and Douglas, in the van. 
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan. 
Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear. 



In bitter mood he spurred fast. 
And soon the hated heath was past ; 
And far beneath, in lustre wan. 
Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran : 
Like some tall rock w^ith lichens gray, 
Seemed dimly huge the dark Abbaye. 
When Hawick he passed, had curfew 

rung. 
Now midnight lauds were in Melrose 

sung. 
The sound, upon the fitful gale. 
In solemn wise did rise and fail. 
Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 
Is wakened by the winds alone. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



But when Melrose he reached, 't was 

silence all ; 
He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 
And sought the convent's lonely wall. 

Here paused the harp ; and with its swell 
The Master's fire and courage fell ; 
Dejectedly, and low, he bowed. 
And, gazing timid on the crowd. 
He seemed to seek, in every ej'e. 
If they approved his minstrelsy ; 
And, diffident of present praise. 
Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
And how old age, and wand'ring long, 
Had done his hand and harp some 

wrong. 
The Duchess and her daughters fair, 
And every gentle lady there. 
Each after each, in due degree, 
Gave praises to his melody ; 
His hand was true, his voice was clear. 
And much they longed the rest to hear. 
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
After meet rest, again began. 

CANTO SECOND. 



/f thou wouldst view fair Melrose 

aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. 
When the broken arches are black in 

night. 
And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
When the cold light's uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruined central tower ; 
When buttress and buttress, alternately. 
Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 
When silver edges the imagery, 
And the scrolls that teach thee to live 

and die ; 
When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead 

man's grave, 
Then go — but go alone the while — 
Then view St David's ruined pile ; 
And, home returning, soothly swear, 
Was never scene so sad and fair ! 



Short halt did Deloraine make there ; 
Little recked he of the scene so fair ; 



With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong. 
He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
The porter hurried to the gate, — 
" Who knocks so loud, and knocks so 

late?" 
" From Branksome I," the warrior 

cried ; 
And straight the wicket opened wide ; 
For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle 

stood. 
To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
And lands and livings, many a rood. 
Had gifted the shrine for their souls* 

repose. 

III. 
Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
The porter bent his humble head ; 
With torch in hand, and feet unshod, 
And noiseless step, the path he trod ; 
'I'he arched cloister, far and wide. 
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
Till, stooping low his lofty crest. 
He entered the cell of the ancient priest. 
And lifted his barred aventayle, 
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. 

IV. 

" The Ladye of Branksome greets thee 
by me ; 

Says, that the fated hour is come. 
And that to-night I shall watch with 
thee. 

To win the treasure of the tomb." 
From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 

With toil his stiffened limbs he reared ; 
A hundred years had flung their snows 

On his thin locks and floating beard. 

V. 

And strangely on the Knight looked he. 
And his blue eyes gleamed wild and 
wide ; 
" And darest thou. Warrior ! seek to see 
What heaven and hell alike would 
hide.? 
My breast, in belt of iron pent, 
With shirt of hair and scourge of 
thorn ; 
For threescore years, in penance spent. 
My knees those flinty stones have 
worn ; 
Yet all too little to atone 
For knowing what should ne'er be 
known. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Wouldst thou thy every future year 
In ceaseless prayer and penance 
drie, 

Yet wait thy latter end with fear, — 
Then, daring Warrior, follow me ! " 



" Penance, father, will I none ; 
Prayer know I hardly one ; 
For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry. 
Save to patter an Ave JNIary, 
Wlien I ride on a Border foray. 
Other prayer can I none ; 
So speed me my errand, and let me be 
gone." 

vn. 

Again on the Knight looked the Church- 
man old, 
And again he sighed heavily ; 

For he had himself been a warrior bold. 
And fought in Spain and Italy, 

And he thought on the days that were 
long since by, 

When his limbs were strong, and his 
courage was high : — 

Now, slow and faint, he led the way, 

Where, cloistered round, the garden 
lay ; 

The pillared arches were over their 
head. 

And beneath their feet were the bones 
of the dead. 



Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright. 
Glistened with the dew of night ; 
Nor herb, nor floweret, glistened there, 
But was carved in the cloister-arches 
as fair. 
The Monk gazed long on the lovely 
moon, 
Then intothe night he looked forth ; 
And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the glowing north. 
So had he seen, in fair Castile, 
The youth in glittering squadrons 
start ; 
Sudden the flying jennet v.'heel. 
And hurl the unexpected dart. 
He knew, by the streamers that shot so 

bright, 
That spirits were riding the northern 
Hght. 



By a steel-clenched postern door 
They entered now the chancel tall ; 

The darkened roof rose high aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and small ; 

The keystone, that locked each ribbed 
aisle. 

Was a fleur-de-lis, or a quatre-feuille ; 

The corbells were carved grotesque and 
grim ; 

And the pillars, with clustered shafts 
so trim. 

With base and with capital flourished 
around. 

Seemed bundles of lances which gar- 
lands had bound. 



Full many a scutcheon and banner 

riven, 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heav- 
en. 
Around the screened altar's pale ; 
And there the dying lamps did burn, 
Before thy low and lonely urn, 
O gallant chief of Otterburne \ 
And thine, dark Knight of Liddes- 
dale! 
O fading honors of the dead ! 
O high ambition, lowly laid ! 



The moon on the east oriel shone 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone. 

By foliaged tracery combined ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some 

fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand 
In many a freakish knot had twined ; 
Then framed a spell, when the work 

was done, 
And changed the willow wreaths to 

stone. 
The silver light, so pale and faint, 
Showed many a prophet, and many a 
saint. 
Whose image on the glass was dyed ; 
Full in the midst, his Cross of Red 
Triumphant Michael brandished. 

And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
The moonbeam kissed the holy pane. 
And threw on the pavement a bloody 
stain. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



They sat them down on a marble stone ; 

(A Scottish monarch slept below ;) 
Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone : 

" I was not always a man of woe ; 
For Paynim countries I have trod, 
And fought beneath the cross of God : 
Now, strange to my eyes thine arms 

appear, 
And their iron clang sounds strange to 
my ear. 



" In these far climes it was my lot 
To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ; 

A Wizard of such dreaded fame, 
That when in Salamanca's cave 
Him listed his magic wand to wave, 

The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! 
Some of his skill he taught to me ; 
And, Warrior, I could say to thee 
The words that cleft Eildon hills in 
three, 

And bridled the Tweed with a curb 
of stone. 
But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 
And, for having but thought them my 
heart within, 

A treble penance must be done. 



" When Michael lay on his dying-bed, 
His conscience was awakened : 
He bethought him of his sinful deed. 
And he gave me a sign to come with 

speed ; 
I was in Spain when the morning rose. 
But I stood by his bed ere evening 

close. 
The words may not again be said 
That he spoke to me, on death-bed 

laid; 
They would rend this Abbaye's massy 

nave, 
And pile it in heaps above his grave. 



" I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 
That never mortal might therein look ; 
And never to tell where it was hid. 
Save at his Chief of Branksome's need ; 
And, when that need was past and o'er, 
Again the volume to restore. 



1 buried him on St. Michael's night. 
When the bell tolled one, and the moon 

was bright. 
And I dug his chamber among the dead, 
When the floor of the chancel was 

stained red. 
That his patron's cross might o'er him 

wave. 
And scare the fiends from the Wizard's 

grave. 

XVI. 

" It was a night of woe and dread, 
When Michael in the tomb I laid ! 
Strange sounds along the chancel 

passed, 
The banners waved without a blast," — 
Still spoke the Monk, when the bell 

tolled one ! — 
I tell you, that a braver man 
Than William of Deloraine, good at 

need, 
Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed ; 
Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread. 
And his hair did bristle upon his head. 



"Lo, Warrior ! now the Cross of Red 
Points to the grave of the mighty dead ; 
\Vithin it burns a wondrous light. 
To chase the spirits that love the night. 
That lamp shall burn unquenchably, 
Until the eternal doom shall be." — 
Slow moved the Monk to the broad 

flagstone, 
Which the bloody Cross was traced 

upon : 
He pointed to a secret nook ; 
An iron bar the Warrior took ; 
And the Monk made a sign with his 

withered hand, 
The grave's huge portal to expand. 

XVIII. 

With beating heart to the task he went ; 
His sinewy frame o'er the gravestone 

bent ; 
With bar of iron heaved amain, 
Till the toil-drops fell from his brows 

like rain. 
It was by dint of passing strength 
That he moved the massy stone at 

length. 
I would you had been there, to see 
How the light broke forth so gloriously. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Streamed upward to the chancel roof, 
And through the galleries far aloof! 
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright ; 
Itshonelike heaven's own blessed light, 

And, issuing from the tomb, 
Showed the Monk's cowl and visage 

pale. 
Danced on the dark-browed Warrior's 
mail. 

And kissed his waving plume. 



Before their ej'es the Wizard lay, 
As if he had not been dead a day. 
His hoary beard in silver rolled, 
He seemed some seventy winters old ; 
A palmer's amice wrapped him round. 
With a wrought Spanish baldric 
bound, 
Like a pilgrim from beyond the 
sea : 
His left hand held his Book of Might ; 
A silver cross was in his right ; 
The lamp was placed beside his 
knee : 
High and majestic was his look. 
At which the fellest fiend had shook, 
And all unruffled was his face : 
They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 



Often had William of Deloraine 
Rode through the battle's bloody plain, 
And trampled dowp the warrior;' sla'Ti, 

And neither known remorse nor awe ; 
Yet now remo»-se and awe he owned ; 
His breath came thick, his head swam 
round, 

When this strange scene of death he 
saw. 
Bewildered and unnerved he stood. 
And the priest praj'ed fervently and 

loud : 
With eyes averted prayed he ; 
He might not endure the sight to see 
Or" the man he had loved so brotherly. 



And when the priest his death-prayer 

had prayed, 
Thus unto Deloraine he said : — 
" Now speed thee what thou hast to 

do. 
Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue ; 



For those thou mayst not look upon 
Are gathering fast round the yawning 

stone ! " 
Then Deloraine, in terror, took 
From the cold hand the Mighty Book, 
With iron clasped, and with iron bound : 
He thought, as he took it, the dead 

man frowned ; 
But the glare of the sepulchral light. 
Perchance, had dazzled the Warrior's 

sight. 

XXII. 

When the huge stone sunk o'er the 
tomb. 

The night returned in double gloom ; 

For the moon had gone down, and the 
stars were few ; 

And as the Knight and Priest with- 
drew. 

With wavering steps and dizzy brain, 

They hardly might the postern gain. 

'T is said, as through the aisles they 
passed. 

They heard strange noises on the blast ; 

And through the cloister-galleries small, 

Which at mid-height thread the chan- 
cel wall, 

Loud sobs and laughter louder ran, 

And voices unlike the voice of man ; 

A'; if the fiends kept holiday. 

Because these spells were brought to- 
day. 

I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 

I say the tale as 't was said to me. 

XXIII. 

*' Now hie thee hence," the Father 

said, 
" And when we are on death-bed laid, • 
O, may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. 

John, 
Forgive our souls for the deed we have 
done ! " 
The Monk returned him to his cell, 
And many a prayer and penance 
sped ; 
When the convent met at the noon- 
tide bell. 
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was 
dead ! 
Before the cross was the body laid, 
With hands clasped fast, as if still he 
prayed. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



The Knight breathed free in the morn- 
ing wind, 

And strove his hardihood to find : 

He was glad when he passed the tomb- 
stones gray, 

Which girdle round the fair Abbaye ; 

For the mystic Book, to his bosom 
prest, 

Felt like a load upon his breast ; 

And his joints, with nerves of iron 
twined, 

Shook like the aspen-leaves in wind. 

Full fain was he when the dawn of day 

Began to brighten Cheviot gray ; 

He joyed to see the cheerful light. 

And he said Ave Mary, as well as he 
might. 



The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, 

The sun had brightened the Carter's 
side ; • 
And soon, beneath the rising day. 

Smiled Branksome towers and Tev- 
iot's tide. 
The wild birds told their warbling tale, 

And wakened every flower that blows ; 
And peeped forth the violet pale, 

And spread her breast the mountain 
rose. 
j\nd lovelier than the rose so red. 

Yet paler than the violet pale, 
S he early left her sleepless bed, 

The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 



W hy does fair Margaret so early awake. 

And don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
And the silken knots, which in hurry 
she would make, 
Why tremble her slender fingers to 
tie ; 
Why does she stop, and look often 
around. 
As she glides down the secret stair ; 
And why does she pat the shaggy blood- 
hound, 
As he rouses him up from his lair ; 
And, though she passes the postern 

alone. 
Why is not the watchman's bugle 
blown ? 



XXVII. 

The Ladye steps in doubt and dread. 

Lest her watchful mother hear her 
tread ; 

The Ladye caresses the rough blood- 
hound. 

Lest his voice should waken the castle 
round ; 

The watchman's bugle is not blown, 

F"or he was her foster-father's son ; 

And she glides through the greenwood 
at dawn of light 

To meet Baron Henry, her own true 
knight. 



The Knight and Ladye fair are met. 
And under the hawthorn's boughs are 

set. 
A fairer pair were never seen 
To meet beneath the hawthorn green. 
He was stately, and young, and tall ; 
Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 
And she, when love, scarce told, scarce 

hid. 
Lent to her cheek a livelier red ; 
When the half-sigh her swelling breast 
Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
When her blue eyes their secret told, 
Though shaded by her locks of gold, — 
Where would you find the peerless fair. 
With Margaret of Branksome might 

compare ! 

XXIX. 

And now, fair dames, methinks I see 

You listen to my minstrelsy ; 

Your waving locks ye backward throw, 

And sidelong bend your necks of snow ; 

Ye ween to hear a melting tale. 

Of two true lovers in a dale ; 

And how the Knight, with tender 
fire, 
To paint his faithful passion strove; 
Swore he might at her feet expire. 
But never, never cease to love ; 
And how she blushed and how she 

sighed. 
And, half consenting, half denied. 
And said that she would die a maid ; 
Yet, might the bloody feud be stayed, 
Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, 
Margaret of Branksome's choice should 
be. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain ! 
Aly harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 

Its lightness would my age reprove : 
My hairs are gray, my limbs are old, 
My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 

I may not, must not, sing of love. 



Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld, 
The Baron's Dwarf his courser held, 

And held his crested helm and spear. 
That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, 
If the tales were true that of him ran 

Tiirough all the Border, far and near. 
'T was said, when the Baron a-hunting 

rode 
Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely 
trode. 
He heard a voice cry, " Lost ! lost ! 
lost ! " 
And, like tennis-ball by racket tossed, 

A leap, of thirty feet and three, 
Made from the gorse this elfin shape. 
Distorted like some dwarfish ape, 
And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's 
knee. 
Lord Cranstoun was some whit dis- 
mayed ; 
'T is said that five good miles he rade. 

To rid him of his company ; 
But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf 

ran four. 
And the Dwarf was first at the castle 
door. 



Use lessens marvel, it is said : 

This elfish Dwarf with the Baron 

stayed ; 
Little he ate, and less he spoke, 
Nor mingled with the menial flock ; 
And oft apart his arms he tossed, 
And often muttered, " Lost ! lost ! lost ! " 
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie. 
But well Lord Cranstoun served he : 
And he of his service was full fain ; 
For once he had been ta'en or slain, 
An it had not been for his minis- 
try. 
All between Home and Hermitage 
Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin 
Page. 



XXXIII. 

For the Baron went on pilgrimage, 
And took with him this elfish Page, 
To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes : 
For there, beside Our Ladye's lake. 
An offering he had sworn to make, 

And he would pay his vows. 
But the Ladye of Branksome gathered 

a band 
Of the best that would ride at her com- 
mand : 
The tryst ing- place was Newark Lee. 
Wat of Harden came thither amain, 
And thither came John of Thirleslane, 
And thither came William of Delo- 

raine ; 
They were three hundred spears and 

three. 
Through Douglas bum, up Yarrow 

stream, 
Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
They came to St. Mary's lake ere day ; 
But the chapel was void and the Baron 

away. 
They burned the chapel for very rage. 
And cursed Lord Cranstoun's Goblin 

Page. 

XXXIV. 

And now, in Branksome's good green- 
wood. 
As under the aged oak he stood, 
'l"he Baron's courser pricks his ears. 
As if a distant noise he hears. 
The Dwarf waves his long, lean arm 

on high. 
And signs to the lovers to part and fly f 
No time was then to vow or sigh. 
Fair Margaret through the hazel-grove 
Flew like the startled cushat-dove ; 
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
Vaulted the Knight on his steed amain, 
And, pondering deep that morning's 

scene. 
Rode eastward through the hawthorn? 
green. 

While thus he poured the lengthened 

tale. 
The Minstrel's voice began to fail : 
Full slyly smiled the observant page, 
And gave the withered hand ot age 
A goblet, crowned with mighty wine. 
The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



13 



He raised the silver cup on high, 
And, while the big drop filled his eye, 
Prayed God to bless the Duchess long, 
And all who cheered a son of song. 
The attending maidens smiled to see 
How long, how deep, how zealously, 
The precious juice the Minstrel quaffed ; 
And he, emboldened by the draught, 
Looked gayly back to them, and 

laughed. 
The cordial nectar of the bowl 
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his 

soul ; 
A lighter, livelier prelude ran, 
Ere thus his tale again began. 



CANTO THIRD. 



And said I that my limbs were old. 
And said I that my blood was cold. 
And that my kindly fire was fled. 
And my poor withered heart was dead. 

And that I might not sing of love? — 
How could I, to the dearest theme 
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream. 

So foul, so false a recreant prove ! 
How could I name love's very name. 
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame ! 



In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's 

reed ; 
In war, he mounts the warrior's steed ; 
In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 
In hamlets, dances on the green. 
Love rules the court, the camp, the 

grove, 
And men below, and saints above ; 
For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 



So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, 
While, pondering deep the tender scene, 
He rode through Branksome's haw- 
thorn green. 
But the Page shouted wild and shrill, 
And scarce his helmet could he don, 
When downward from the shady hill 
A stately knight came pricking on. 
That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray. 
Was dark with sweat, and splashed 
with clay; 



His armor red with many a stain : 
He seemed in such a weary plight. 
As if he had ridden the livelong night ; 

For it was William of Deloraine. 



But no whit weary did he seem, 
When, dancing in the sunny beam, 
He marked the crane on the Baron's 

crest ; 
For his ready spear was in his rest. 
Few were the words, and stern and 
high. 
That marked the foeman's feudal 
hate ; 
For question fierce, and proud reply. 
Gave signal soon of dire debate. 
Their very coursers seemed to know 
That each was other's mortal foe. 
And snorted fire when wheeled around, 
To give each knight his vantage-ground. 



In rapid round the Baron bent ; 

He sighed a sigh, and prayed a 
prayer ; 
The prayer was to his patron saint, 

The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor prayed. 
Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid ; 
But he stooped his head, and couched 

his spear. 
And spurred his steed to full career. 
The meeting of these champions proud 
Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. 



Stem was the dint the Borderer lent ! 
The stately Baron backwards bent ; 
Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 
And his plumes went scattering on the 

gale : 
The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 
Into a thousand flinders flew. 
But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, 
Pierced through, like silk, the Border- 
er's mail : 
Through shield, and jack, and acton, 

past. 
Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 
Still sat the warrior, saddle-fast, 
Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, _ 
Down went the steed, the girthing 
broke, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. 
1'he Baron onward passed his course ; 
Nor knew — so giddy rolled his brain — 
His foe lay stretched upon the plain. 



But when he reined his courser round, 
And saw his foeman on the ground 

Lie senseless as the bloody clay, 
He bade his page to stanch the wound, 

And there beside the warrior stay, 
And tend him in his doubtful state, 
And lead him to Branksome castle-gate ; 
His noble mind was inly moved 
For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
" This shalt thou do without delay : 
No longer here myself may stay ; 
Unless the swifter I speed away, 
Short shnft will be at my dying day." 

VIII. 

Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 
The Goblin Page behind abode ; 
His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 
Though small his pleasure to do good. 
As the corselet off he took. 
The dwarf espied the Mighty Book ! 
Much he marvelled a knight of pride, 
Like a book-bosomed priest should 

ride : 
He thought not to search or stanch the 

.wound 
Until the secret he had found. 



The iron band, the iron clasp, 
Resisted long the elfin grasp : 
For when the first he had undone, 
It closed as he the next begun. 
Those iron clasps, that iron band, 
Would not yield to unchristened hand, 
Till he smeared the cover o'er 
With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 
A moment then the volurne spread. 
And one short spell therein he read. 
It had much of glamour might, 
Could make a ladye seem a knight ; 
The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 
Seem tapestry in lordly hall ; 
A nutshell seem a gilded barge, 
A sheeling seem a palace large, 
And youth seem age, and age seem 

youth ; — 
All was delusion, naught was truth. 



He had not read another spell, 
When on his cheek a buffet fe". 
So fierce, it stretched him on the plain, 
Beside the wounded Deloraine. 
From the ground he rose dismayed. 
And shook his huge and matted head ; 
One word he muttered, and no more, 
" Man of age, ihou smitest sore ! " — 
No more the Elfin Page durst try 
Into the wondrous Book to prjf ; 
The clasps, though smeared with 

Christian gore. 
Shut faster than they were before. 
He hid it underneath his cloak. 
Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, 
I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 
It was not given by man alive. 



Unwillingly himself he addressed 
To do his master's high behest : 
He lifted up the living corse, 
And laid it on the weary horse ; 
He led him into Branksome Hall, 
Before the beards of the warders all ; 
And each did after swear and say, 
There only passed a wain of hay. 
He took him to Lord David's tower. 
Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 
And, but that stronger spells wer* 

spread, 
And the door might not be opened. 
He had laid him on her very bed- 
Whate'er he did of gramarye, 
Was always done maliciously : 
He flung the warrior on the ground, 
And the blood welled freshly from th^ 

wound. 

XII. 

As he repassed the outer court, 
He spied the fair young child at sport : 
He thought to train him to the wood ; 
For, at a word, be it understood. 
He was alwavs for ill, and never for good. 
Seemed to the boy, some comrade gay 
Led him forth to the woods to play ; 
On the drawbridge the warders stout 
Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 



He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 
Until they came to a woodland brook , 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



^S 



TTie running stream dissolved the spell, 
And his own elfish shape he took. 
Could he have had his pleasure vilde, 
He had crippled the joints of the noble 

child ; 
Or, with his fingers long and lean, 
Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
But his awful mother he had in dread, 
And also his power was limited ; 
So he but scowled on the startled child, 
And darted through the forest wild ; 
The woodland brook he bounding 

crossed. 
And laughed, and shouted, " Lost I 

lost ! lost ! " — 



Full sore amazed at the wondrous 
change. 
And frightened as a child might be, 
At the wild yell and visage strange, 
And the dark words of gramarye, 
The child, amidst the forest bower, 
Stood rooted like a lily flower ; 
And when at length, with trembling 
pace, 
He sought to find where Brank- 
some lay, 
He feared to see that grisly face 
Glare from some thicket on his way. 
Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on. 
And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
For aye the more he sought his way, 
The farther still he went astray, — 
Until he heard the mountains round 
Ring to the baying of a hound. 



And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouthed 
bark 

Comes nigher still, and nigher : 
Bursts on the path a dark bloodhound. 
His tawny muzzle tracked the ground. 

And his red eye shot fire. 
Soon as the wildered child saw he, 
He flew at him right furiously. 
I ween you would have seen with joy 
The bearing of the gallant boy. 
When, worthy of his noble sire. 
His wet cheek gl owed 'twixt fear and ire 1 
He faced the bloodhound manfully. 
And held his little bat on high ; 
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid. 
At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, 



But still in act to spring ; 
When dashed an archer through the 

glade. 
And when he saw the hound was stayed. 

He drew his tough bow-string ; 
But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, 

hoy ! 
Ho ! shoot not, Edward — 'Tis a boy ! " 



The speaker issued from the wood, 
And checked his. fellow's surly mood. 

And quelled the ban-dog's ire : 
He was an English yeoman good, 
And born in Lancashire. 
Well could he hit a fallow-deer 

Five hundred feet him fro ; 
With hand more true, and eye more 
clear. 

No archer bended bow. 
His coal-black hair, shorn round and 
close, 

Set off his sunburned face ; 
Old England's sign, St. George's cross. 

His barret-cap did grace ; 
His bugle-horn hung by his side. 

All in a wolf-skin baldric tied ; 
And his short falchion, sharp and clear, 
Had pierced the throat of many a deer. 



His kirtle, made of forest green. 
Reached scantly to his knee ; 

And, at his belt, of arrows keen 

A furbished sheaf bore he ; 

His buckler, scarce in breadth a span, 
No larger fence had he ; 

He never counted him a man. 
Would strike below the knee : 

His slackened bow was in his liand. 

And the leash, that was his blood- 
hound's band. 



He would not do the fair child harm, 
But held him with his powerful arm. 
That he might neither fight nor flee ; 
For when the Red Cross spied he, 
The boy strove long and violently. 
" Now, by St. George," the archer cries, 
" Edward, methinks we have a prize i 
This boy's fair face and courage free 
Show he is come of high degree." 



i6 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



" Yes ! I am come of high degree, 

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
And, if thou dost not set me free, 

False Southron, thou shah dearly rue ! 
For Walter of Harden shall come with 

speed. 
And William of Deloraine, good at 

need, 
And every Scott, from Esk to Tweed ; 
And if thou dost not let me go, 
Despite thy arrows and thy bow, 
I '11 have thee hanged to feed the 

crow ! " 



" Gramercy, for thy good-will, fair boy ! 
My mind was never set so high ; 
But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
And art the son of such a man, 
And ever comest to thy command, v 

Our wardens had need to keep good 
order ; 
My bow of yew to a hazel wand, 

Thou 'It make them work upon the 
border. 
Meantime, be pleased to come with me, 
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see ; 
I think our work is well begun, 
When we have taken thy father's son." 



Although the child was led away. 
In Branksome still he seemed to stay, 
For so the Dwarf his part did play ; 
And, in the shape of that young boy, 
He wrought the castle much annoy. 
The comrades of the young Buccleuch 
He pinched, and beat, and overthrew ; 
Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew. 
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire, 
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire, 
He lighted the match of his bandelier, 
And wofully scorched the hackbuteer. 
It may be hardly thought or said. 
The mischief that the urchin made, 
Till many of the castle guessed. 
That the young Baron was possessed ! 

XXII. 

Well I ween the charm he held 
The noble Ladye had soon dispelled ; 
But she was deeply busy then 
To tend the wounded Deloraine. 



Much she wondered to find him lie, 
On the stone threshold stretched 
along ; 
She thought some spirit of the sky 
Had done the bold moss-troope/ 
wrong. 
Because, despite her precept dread, 
Perchance he in the book had read ; 
But the broken lance in his bosom stood, 
And it was earthly steel and wood. 



She drew the splinter from the wound, 
And with a charm she stanched tiie 

blood ; 
She bade the gash be cleansed and 
bound : 
No longer by his couch she stood ; 
But she has ta'en the broken lance. 
And washed it from the clotted gore, 
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. 
William of Deloraine, in trance. 

Whene'er she turned it round and 

round. 
Twisted as if she galled his wound. 
Then to her maidens she did say, 
That he should be whole man and 
sound 
Within the course of a night and 
day. 
Full long she toiled ; for she did rue 
Mishap to friend so stout and true. 

XXIV. 

So passed the day ; the evening fell, 
'T was near the time of curfew bell ; 
The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
The stream was smooth, the dew was 

balm ; 
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower. 
Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. 
Far more fair Margaret loved and 

blessed 
The hour of silence and of rest. 
On the high turret sitting lone, 
She waked at times the lute's soft tone ; 
Touched a wild note, and all between 
Thought of the bower of hawthorns 

green. 
Her golden hair streamed free from 

band. 
Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
For lovers love the western star. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



^1 



Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
That rises slowly to her ken, 
And, spreading broad its wavering light, 
Shakes its loose tresse« on the light ? 
Is yon red glare the western star? — 
O, 't is the beacon blaze of war ! 
Scarce could she draw her tightened 

breath, 
For well she knew the fire of death ! 



The Warder viewed it blazing strong. 
And blew his war-note loud and long, 
I'ill, at the high and haughty sound. 
Rock, wood, and river rung around. 
The blast alarmed the festal hall, 
And started forth the warriors all ; 
Far downward, in the castle yard, 
Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 
And helms and plumes, confusedly 

tossed, 
Were in the blaze half seen, half lost; 
And spears in wild disorder shook, 
Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 

XXVII. 

The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
Was reddened by tlie torches' glare, 
Stood In the midst, with gesture proud, 
And issued forth his mandates loud : — 
" On Penchyrst glows a bale of fire. 
And three are kindling on Priest- 
haughswire : 

Ride out, ride out. 

The foe to scout ! 
Mount, mount for Branksome, every 

man ! 
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, 

That ever are true and stout — 
Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
For when they see the blazing bale, 
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. 
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life ! 
And warn the Warder of the strife. 
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise." 



Fair Margaret, from the turret head. 
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread, 

While loud the harness rung. 
As to their seats, with clamor dread. 

The ready horsemen sprung : 



And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, 
And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
And out ! and out ! 
In hasty route. 
The horsemen galloped forth ; 
Dispersing to the south to scout. 
And east, and west, and north. 
To view their coming enemies. 
And warn their vassals and allies. 



The ready page, with hurried hand, 
Awaked the need -fire's slumbering 
brand. 

And ruddy blushed the heaven : 
For a sheet of flame, from the turret 

high. 
Waved like a blood-flag on the sky 

All flaring and uneven ; 
And soon a score of fires, I ween, 
From height, and hill, and cliff, were 

seen ; 
Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 
Each from each the signal caught ; 
Each after each they glanced to sight, 
As stars arise upon the night. 
They gleamed on many a dusky tarn. 
Haunted by the lonely earn ; 
On many a cairn's gray pyramid. 
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; 
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, 
From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; 
And Lothian heard the Regent's order, 
That all should bowne them for the 
Border. 

XXX. 

The livelong night in Branksome rang 

The ceaseless sound of steel ; 
The castle-bell, with backward clang. 

Sent forth the larum peal ; 
Was frequent heard the heavy jar, 
Where massy stone and iron bar 
Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
To whelm the foe with deadly shower ; 
Was frequent heard the changing guard. 
And watchword from the sleepless 

ward ; 
While, wearied by the endless din. 
Bloodhound and ban-dog yelled within. 

XXXI. 

The noble Dame, amid the broil. 
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil. 
And spoke of danger with a smile ; 



T» 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Cheered the young knights, and 
council sage 
Held with the chiefs of riper age. 
No tidings of the foe were brought, 
Nor of his numbers knew they aught, 
Nor what in time of truce he sought. 

Some said that there were thousands 
ten ; 
And others weened that it was naught 

But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, 
Who came to gather in black-mail ; 
And Liddesdale, with small avail. 

Might drive them lightly back again. 
So passed the anxious night away. 
And welcome was the peep of day. 



Ceased the high sound — the listening 

throng 
Applaud the Master of the Song ; 
And marvel much, in helpless age, 
So hard should be his pilgrimage. 
Had he no friend — no daughter dear. 
His wandering toil to share and cheer; 
No son to be his father's stay, 
And guide him on the rugged way? 
" Ay, once he had — but he was dead ! " 
Upon the harp he stooped his head. 
And busied himself the strings withal. 
To hide the tear that fain would fall. 
In solemn measure, soft and slow. 
Arose a father's notes of woe. 

CANTO FOURTH. 



Sweet Teviot ! on thy silver tide 

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; 
No longer steel-clad warriors ride 

Along thy wild and willowed shore ; 
Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, 
All, all is peaceful, all is still, 

As if thy waves, since Time vras bom, 
Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, 
Had only heard the shepherd's reed. 

Nor started at the bugle-horn. 

11. 

Unlike the tide of human time. 

Which, though it change in ceaseless 
flow, 
Retains each grief, retains each crime 
Its earliest course was doomed to 
know ; 




And, darker as it downward bears. 
Is stained with past and present tears. 

Low as that tide has ebbed with me. 
It still reflects to Memory's eye 
The hour my brave, my only boy. 

Fell by the side of great Dundee. 
Why, when the volleying musket played 
Against the bloody Highland blade. 
Why was not I beside him laid? — 
Enough — he died the death of fame ; 
Enough — he died with conquering 
Graeme. 



Now over Border dale and fell, 

Full wide and far was terror spread ; 

For pathless marsh and mountain cell 
The peasant left his lowly shed. 

The frightened flocks and herds were 
pent 

Beneath the peel's rude battlement ; 

And maids and matrons dropped the 
tear. 

While ready warriors seized the spear. 

From Branksome's towers, the watch- 
man's eye 

Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy. 

Which, curling in the rising sun, 

Showed southern ravage was begun. 



Nowloud the heedful gate-ward cried, — 
" Prepare ye all for blows and blood ! 
Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side, 
Comes wading through the flood. 
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
Ai his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 
It was but last St. Bamabright 
They sieged him a whole summer night, 
But fled at morning ; well they knew 
In vain he never twanged the yew. 
Right sharp has been the evening 

shower 
That drove him from his Liddel tower; 
And, by my faith," the gate-ward said, 
" I think 't will prove a Warden-Raid." 



While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman 
Entered the echoing barbican. 
He led a small and shaggy nag, 
That through a bog, from hag to hag. 
Could bound like any Billhope stag. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



19 



It bore his wife and children twain ; 
A half-clothed serf was all their train ; 
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed, 
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud. 
Laughed to her friends among the 

crowd. 
He was of stature passing tall. 
But sparely formed, and lean withal ; 
A battered morion on his brow ; 
A leather jack, as fence enow, 
On his broad shoulders loosely hung ; 
A Border axe behind was slung ; 
His spear, six Scottish ells in length, 

Seemed newly dyed with gore ; 
His shafts and bow, of wondrous 
Strength, 

His hardy partner bore. 



Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 
The tidings of the English foe : — 
" Belted Will Howard is marching here, 
And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, 
And all the German hackbut-men, 
Who have long lain at Askerten : 
Theycrossed the Liddel at curfew hour, 
And burned my little lonely tower : 
The fiend receive their souls therefor ! 
It had not been burnt this year and 

more. 
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, 
Served to guide me on my flight ; 
But I was chased the livelong night. 
Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus 

Grsme, 
Full fast, upon my traces came, 
Until I turned at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 
And shot their horses in the bog, 
Slew Fergus with my lance outright — 
I had him long at high despite : 
He drove my cows last Eastern's night." 



Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale ; 
As far as they could judge by ken, 
Three hours would bring to Tev- 
iot's strand 
Three thousand armed Englishmen ; 
Meanwhile, full many a warlike 
band. 
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, 
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. 



There was saddling and mounting in 
haste. 
There was pricking o'er moor and 
lea ; 
He that was last at the trysting-place 
Was but lightly held of his gay 
ladye. 



From fair St. Mary's silver wave. 

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky 
height, 
His ready lances Thirlestane brave 

Arrayed beneath a banner bright. 
The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims, 
To wreathe his shield, since royal 

James, 
Encamped by Falla's mossy wave. 
The proud distinction grateful gave, 

For faith 'mid feudal jars ; 
What time, save Thirlestane alone. 
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 

Would march to southern wars ; 
And hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
Hence his high mottoshinesrevealed, — 
" Ready, aye ready," for the field. 



An aged Knight, to danger steeled. 

With many a moss-trooper came on ; 
And azure in a golden field. 
The stars and crescent graced his shield, 

Without the bend of Murdieston. 
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood 

tower. 
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower ; 
High over Borthwick's mountain flood, 
His wood-embosomed mansion stood ; 
In the dark glen, so deep below. 
The herds of plundered England low ; 
His bold retainers' daily food, 
And bought with danger, blows, and 

blood. 
Marauding chief ! his sole delight 
The moonlight raid, the morning fight ; 
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's 

charms. 
In youth, might tame his rage for arms ; 
And still, in age, he spurned at rest, 
And still his brows the helmet pressed, 
Albeit the blanched locks below 
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow : 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Five stately warriors drew the sword 
Before their father's band ; 

A braver knight than Harden's lord 
Ne'er belted on a brand. 



Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, 
Came trooping down the Todshaw- 

hiil ; 
By the sword they won their land, 

And by the sword they hold it still. 
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, 
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. 
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, 
The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood, 
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, 

and rude ; 
High of heart, and haughty of word, 
Little they recked of a tame liege-lord. 
The Earl into fair Eskdale came 
Homage and seignory to claim : 
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he 

sought, 
Saying, " Give thy best steed, as a vas- 
sal ought." 
" Dear to me is my bonny white steed. 
Oft has he helped me at pinch of need ; 
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow 
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou." 
Word on word gave fuel to fire. 
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's 

ire. 
But that the Earl to flight had ta'en. 
The vassals there their lord had slain. 
Sore he plied both whip and spur. 
As he urged his steed through Eskdale 

muir ; 
And it fell down a weary weight. 
Just on the threshold of Branksome 

gate. 

XI. 

The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
Full fain avenged would he be. 
In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke. 
Saying, " Take these traitors to thy 

yoke ; 
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, 
All Eskdale I '11 sell thee, to have and 

hold : 
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' 

clan 
If thou lea vest on Eske a landed man ; 



But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, 
For he lent me his horse to escap^ 

upon." 
A glad man then was Branksome bold_ 
Down he flung him the purse of gold; 
To Eskdale soon he spurred amain. 
And with him five hundred riders has 

ta'en. 
He left his merrymen in the midst of 

the hill. 
And bade them hold them close and 

still ; 
And alone he wended to the plain. 
To meet with the Galliard and all his 

train. 
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : 
" Know thou me for thy liege-lord and 

head ; 
Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 
For Scotts play best at the roughest 

game. 
Give me in peace my heriot due. 
Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt 

rue. 
If my horn I three times wind, 
Eskdale shall long have the sound in 

mind." 



Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn : 
" Little care we for thy winded horn. 
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot 
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. 
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot. 
With rusty spur and miry boot." 
He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 
That the dun-deer started at fair Craik- 

cross ; 
He blew again so loud and clear, 
Through the gray mountain-mist there 

did lances appear ; 
And the third blast rang with such a din 
That the echoes answered from Pen- 

toun-linn, ^ 

And all his riders came lightly in. 
Then had you seen a gallant shock. 
When saddles were emptied, and lances 

broke ! 
For each scornful word the Galliard 

had said, 
A Beattison on the field was laid. 
His own good sword the chieftain drew. 
And he bore the Galliard through and 

through ; 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



WH^re the Beattisons' blood mixed with 

the rill, 
Tha Galliard's Haugh men call it still. 
Thj Scotts have scattered the Beatti- 

son clan, 
In Eskdale they left but one landed 

man. 
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to 

the source, 
Was lost and won for that bonny white 

horse. 

XIII. 

Whitslade the hawk, and Headshaw 

came. 
And warriors more than I may name ; 
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh- 
swair. 
From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen, 
Trooped man and horse, and bow and 
spear ; 
Their gathering word was Bellenden. 
And better hearts o'er Border sod 
To siege or rescue never rode. 

The Ladye marked the aids come in. 
And high her heart of pride arose : 
She bade her youthful son attend, 
That he might know his father's 
friend. 
And learn to face his foes. 
" The boy is ripe to look on war ; 

I saw him draw a crossbow stiff, 
And his true arrow struck afar 
The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
The red cross, on a southern breast, 
Is^ broader than the raven's nest : 
Thru, Whitslade, shalt teach him his 

weapon to wield, 
And o'er him hold his father's shield." 



Well may you think, the wily page 
Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 
He counterfeited childish fear, 
And shrieked, and shed full many a 
tear. 
And moaned and plained in manner 
wild. 
The attendants to the Ladye told. 
Some fairy, sure, had changed the 
child, 
That wont to be so free and bold. 
Then wrathful was the noble dame ; 
She blushed blood-red for very shame : 



" Hence ! ere the clan his faintness 

view ; 
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch I 
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide 
To Rangleburn's lonely side. 
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, 
That coward should e'er be son of 

mine ! " 



A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, 
To guide the counterfeited lad. 
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 
Of that ill-omened elfish freight. 
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain, 
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil 
To drive him but a Scottish mile ; 

But as a shallow brook they crossed. 
The elf, amid the running stream 
His figure changed, like form in dream, 
And fled, and shouted, " Lost ! 
lost ! lost ! " 
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, 
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew. 
And pierced his shoulder through and 

through. 
Although the imp might not be slain, 
And though the wound soon healed 

again, 
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain ; 
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, 
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. 



Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, 
That looks o'er Branksome's towers 

and wood ; 
And martial murmurs, from below, 
Proclaimed the approaching southern 

foe. 
Through the dark wood, in mingled 

tone, 
Were Border pipes and bugles blown ; 
The coursers' neighing he could ken, 
A measured tread of marching men ; 
While broke at times the solemn hum. 
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum ; 
And banners tall, of crimson sheen, 

Above the copse appear ; 
And, glistening through the haw- 
thorns green, 
Shine helm, and shield, and spear. 



ax 



THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 




Light forayers, first, to view the ground, 
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely 
round ; 
Behind, in close array, and fast. 

The Kendal archers, all in green, 
Obedient to the bugle blast, 

Advancing from the wood were 
seen. 
To back and guard the archer band. 
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand : 
A hardy race, on Irthing bred. 
With kirtles white, and crosses red, 
Arrayed beneath the banner tall. 
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered 

wall ; 
And minstrels, as they marched in order, 
Played, " Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells 
on the Border." 

XVIII. 

Behind the English bill and bow, 
The mercenaries, firm and slow. 

Moved on to figlit, in dark array, 
By Conrad led of VVolfenstein, 
Who brought the band from distant 

Rhine, 
And sold their blood for foreign pay. 
The camp their home, their law the 

sword, 
They knew no country, owned no lord : 
They were not armed like England's 

sons. 
But bore the levin-darting guns; 
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered 

o'er, 
And morsing-homs and scarfs they 

wore ; 
Each better knee was bared, to aid 
The warriors in the escalade ; 
And as they marched, in rugged tongue, 
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 



But louder still the clamor grew, 
And louder still the minstrels blew. 
When, from beneath the greenwood 

tree. 
Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry ; 
His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear, 
Brought up the battle's glittering rear. 
There many a youthful knight, full keen 
To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ; 



With favor in his crest, or glove, 
Memorial of his ladye-love. 
So rode they forth in fair arrav, 
Till full their lengthened lines' display ; 
Then called a halt, and made a stand. 
And cried, '" St. George, for merrr 
England ! " 



Now every English eye, intent 

On Branksome's armed towers was 

bent ; 
So near they were, that they might know 
The straining harsh of each cross-bow ; 
On battlement and bartizan 
Gleamed axe, and spear,' and partisan ; 
Falcon and culver, on each tower. 
Stood prompt their deadly hail to 

shower ; 
And flashing armor frequent broke 
From eddying whirls of sable smoke, 
Where upon tower and turret head, 
The seething pitch and molten lead 
Reeked, like a witch's caldron red. 
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, 
The wicket opes, and from the wall 
Rides forth the hoary Seneschal, 



Armed he rode, all save the head, 
His white beard o'er his breastplate 

spread ; 
Unbroke by age, erect his seat, 
He ruled his eager courser's gait ; 
Forced him, with chastened fire, to 

prance, 
And, high curvetting, slow advance : 
In sign of truce, his better hand 
Displayed a peeled willow wand ; 
His squire, attending in the rear, 
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. 
When they espied him riding out. 
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 
Sped to the front of their array, 
To hear what this old knight should say. 



" Ye English warden lords, of you 
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, 
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, 
In hostile guise ye dare to ride. 
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand, 
And all yon mercenary band, 
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



a> 



My Ladye reads you svvith return ; 
And if but one poor straw you burn, 
Or do our towers so much molest 
As scare one swallow from her nest, 
St. Mary ! but we '11 light a brand 
Shall warm your hearths in Cumber- 
land." 



A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, 
But calmer Howard took the word : 
" May 't please thy Dame, Sir Senes- 
chal, 
To seek the castle's outward wall, 
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show 
Both why we came and when we go." 
The message sped, the iioble Dame 
To the wall's outward circle came ; 
Each chief around leaned on his spear, 
To see the pursuivant appear. 
All in Lord Howard's livery dressed, 
The lion argent decked his breast ; 
He led a boy of blooming hue, — 
O sight to meet a mother's view ! 
It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
Obeisance meet the herald made. 
And thus his master's will he said ; — 



" It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords ; 
But yet they may not tamely see. 
All through the Western Wardenry, 
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride. 
And burn and spoil the Border-side ; 
And ill beseems your rank and birth 
To make your towers a flemens-firth. 
We claim from thee William of Delo- 

raine. 
That he may suffer march-treason pain. 
It was but last St. Cuthbert's even 
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, 
Harried the lands of Richard Mus- 

grave. 
And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 
Then, since a lone and widowed dame 
These restless riders may not tame, 
Either receive within thy towers 
Two hundred of my master's powers. 
Or straight they sound their warrison. 
And storm and spoil thy garrison : 
And this fair boy, to London led. 
Shall good King Edward's page be 

bred." 



He ceased ; and loud the boy did cry. 
And stretched his little arms on high ; 
Implored for aid each well-known face. 
And strove to seek the Dame's em- 
brace. 
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer. 
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear ; 
She gazed upon the leaders round, 
And dark and sad each warrior frowned ; 
Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
She locked the struggling sigh to rest ; 
Unaltered and collected stood. 
And thus replied, in dauntless mood : — 

XXVI. 

" Say to your Lords of high emprise, 
Who war on women and on boys. 
That either William of Deloraine 
Will cleanse him, by oath, of march- 
treason stain. 
Or else he will the combat take 
'Gainst Musgrave, for his honor's sake. 
No knight in Cumberland so good. 
But William may count with him kin 

and blood. 
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword. 
When English blood swelled Ancram's 

ford : 
And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight. 
And bare him ably in the flight. 
Himself had seen him dubbed a knight. 
For the young heir of Branksome's 

line, 
God be his aid, and God be mine ; 
Through me no friend shall meet his 

doom ; 
Here, while I live, no foe finds room. 
Then, if thy Lords their purpose 

urge. 
Take our defiance loud and high ; 
Our slogan is their lyke-wake dirge, 
Our moat, the grave where they 

shall lie." 

XXVII. 

Proud she looked round, applause to 

claim, — 
Then lightened Thirlestane's eye of 
flame ; 
His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 
Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 
To heaven the Border slogan rung, 



34 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



" St. Mary for the young Buc- 
cleuch ! " 
The English war-cry answered wide, 
And forward bent each southern 
spear ; 
Each Kendal archer made a stride, 

And drew the bowstring to his ear ; 
Each minstrel's war-note loud was 

blown ; 
But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, 
A horseman galloped from the rear. 



" Ah ! noble Lords ! " he breathless 

said, 
*' What treason has your march be- 
trayed ? 
What make you here, from aid so far, 
Before you walls, around you war ? 
Your foemen triumph in the thought, 
That in the toils the lion 's caught. 
Already on dark Ruberslaw 
The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw ; 
The lances, waving in his train, 
Clothe the dun heath like autumn 

grain ; 
And on the Liddel's northern strand, 
To bar retreat to Cumberland, 
Lord Maxwell ranks his merrymen 

good, 
Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 

And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, 

Have to proud Angus come ; 
And all the Merse and Lauderdale 
Have risen with haughty Home. 
An exile from Northumberland, 

In Liddesdale I 've wandered long ; 
But still my heart was with Merry 
England, 
And cannot brook my country's 
wrong ; 
And hard I 've spurred all night to show 
The mustering of coming foe." 



" And let them come ! " fierce Dacre 

cried ; 
" For soon yon crest, my father's pride. 
That swept the shores of Judah's sea, 
And waved in gales of Galilee, 
From Branksome's highest towers dis- 
played. 
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid I 



Level each harquebuss on row ; 
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
Up, bill-men, to the walls and cry, 
Dacre for England, win or die ! " 



"Yet hear," quoth Howard, "calmly 

hear, 
Nor deem my words the words of fear ; 
For who, in field or foray slack. 
Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back ? 
But thus to risk our Border flower 
In strife against a kingdom's power. 
Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands 

three, 
Certes, were desperate policy. 
Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, 
Ere conscious of the advancing aid : 
Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine 
In single fight ; and, if he gain. 
He gains for us ; but if he 's crossed, 
'T is but a single warrior lost : 
The rest, retreating as they came. 
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." 



Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
His brother Warden's sage rebuke ; 
And yet his forward step he stayed, 
And slow and sullenly obeyed. 
But ne'er again the Border side 
Did these two lords in friendship ride 
And this slight discontent, men say. 
Cost blood upon another day. 



The pursulvant-at-arms again 

Before the castle took his stand ; 
His trumpet called, with parleying 
strain, 

The leaders of the Scottish band; 
And he defied, in Musgrave's right. 
Stout Deloraine to single fight ; 
A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
And thus the terras of fight he said : — 
" If in the lists good Musgrave's sword 

Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's 
Lord, 

Shall hostage for his clan remain: 
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, 
The boy his liberty shall have. 

Howe'er it falls, the English band, 
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



25 



In peaceful march, like men unarmed, 
Shall straight retreat to Cumber- 
land." 

xxxni. 

Unconscious of the near relief, 

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, 

Though much the Ladye sage gain- 
said ; 
For though their hearts were brave and 

true, 
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew 

How tardy was the Regent's aid ; 
And you may guess the noble Dame 

Durst not the secret prescience own, 
Sprung from the art she might not 
name, 

By which the coming help was known. 
Closed was the compact, and agreed, 
That lists should be enclosed with speed, 

Beneath the castle, on a lawn : 
They fixed the morrow for the strife. 
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, 

At the fourth hour from peep of 
dawn : 
When Deloraine, from sickness freed, 
Or else a champion in his stead. 
Should for himself and chieftain stand, 
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 



I know right well, that, in their lay, 
Full many minstrels sing and say. 

Such combat should be made on 
horse. 
On foaming steed, in full career. 
With brand to aid, when as the spear 

Should shiver in the course : 
But he, the jovial harper, taught 
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 

In guise which now I say ; 
He knew each ordinance and clause 
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-laws. 

In the old Douglas' day. 
He brooked not, he, that scofiSng tongue 
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, 

Or call his song untrue : 
For this, when they the goblet plied. 
And such rude taunt had chafed his 
pride. 

The bard of Reull he slew. 
On Teviot's side, in fight they stood. 
And tuneful hands were stained with 
blood ; 



Where still the thorn's white branches 

wave, 
Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 



Why should I tell the rigid doom 
That dragged my master to his tomb ; 

How Ousenam's maidens tore their 
hair. 
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim. 
And wrung their hands for love of him 

Who died at Jedwood Air? 
He died ! — his scholars, one by one, 
To the cold silent grave are gone ; 
And I, alas! survive alone. 
To muse o'er rivalries of yore. 
And grieve that I shall hear no more 
The strains, with envy heard before ; 
For, with my minstrel brethren fled, 
My jealousy of song is dead. 



He paused : the listening dames again 
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain. 
With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
In pity half, and half sincere, — 
Marvelled the Duchess how so well 
His legendary song could tell, — 
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
Offends, whose memory was not ; 
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ; 
Of towers, which harbor now the hare ; 
Of manners, long since changed and 

gone ; 
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone 
So long had slept, that fickle Fame 
Had blotted from her rolls their name. 
And twined round some new minion's 

head 
The fading wreath for which they bled ; 
In sooth, 't was strange, this old man's 

verse 
Could call them from their marble 

hearse. 
The Harper smiled, well pleased ; for 

ne'er 
Was flattery lost on Poet's ear : 
A simple race ! they waste their toil 
For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
E'en when in age their flame expires. 
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise. 
And strives to trim the short-lived 

blaze. 



26 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. / 



Smiled, then, well pleased, the Aged 
Man, 
And thus his tale continued ran. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

I. 

Call it not vain : — they do not err 
Who say, that, when the Poet dies, 

Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
And celebrates his obsequies : 

Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone. 

For the departed Bard make moan ; 

That mountains w eep in crystal rill ; 

That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 

Through his loved groves that breezes 
sigh,_ 

And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 

And rivers teach their rushing wave 

To murmur dirges round his grave. 



Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
Those things inanimate can mourn ; 
But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 
Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
Of those, who, else forgotten long, 
Lived in the poet's faithful song. 
And, with the poet's parting breath, 
Whose memory feels a second death. 
The Maid's pale shade, who wails her 

lot, 
That love, true love, should be forgot. 
From rose and hawthorn shakes the 

tear 
Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier : 
The phantom Knight, his glory fled. 
Mourns o'er the field he heaped with 

dead ; 
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps 

amain. 
And shrieks along the battle-plain. 
The chief, whose antique crownlet long 
Still sparkled in the feudal song. 
Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 
Sees, in the thanedom once his own, 
His ashes undistinguished lie. 
His place, his power, his memory die : 
His groans the lonely caverns fill, 
His tears of rage impel the rill ; 
All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrung, 
Their name unknown, their praise un- 
sung. 



Scarcely the hot assault was stayed. 
The terms of truce were scarcely made. 
When they could spy, from Brank- 

some's towers. 
The advancing march of martial pow- 
ers. 
Thick clouds of dust afar appeared. 
And trampling steeds were faintly 

heard ; 
Bright spears above the columns dun 
Glanced momentary to the sun ; 
And feudal banners fair displayed 
The bands that moved to Branksome's 
aid. 

IV. 

Vails not to tell each hardy clan. 

From the fair Middle Marches came : 
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van. 

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name ! 
Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn. 
Where the Seven Spears of Wedder- 
bume 

Their men in battle-order set; 
And Swinton laid the lance in rest. 
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest 

Of Clarence's Plantagenet. 
Nor list I say what hundreds more, 
From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
And Tweed's fair borders to the war, 
Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, 

And Hepburn's mingled banners 
come 
Down the steep mountain glittering far. 

And shouting still, "A Home! a 
Home!" 

V. 

Now squire and knight, from Brank- 

some sent. 
On many a courteous message went ; 
To every chief and lord they paid 
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful 

aid ; 
And told them, — how a truce was 
made. 
And how a day of fight was ta'en 
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Delo- 
raine. 
And how the Ladye prayed them 
dear, 
That all would stay the fight to see. 
And deign, in love and courtesy. 
To taste of Branksome cheer 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



27 



Nor, vrhile they bade to feast each Scot, 
Were England's noble Lords forgot. 
Himself, the hoary Seneschal 
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
Was never dubbed more bold in fight ; 
Nor, when from war and armor free, 
More famed for stately courtesy: 
])ut angry Dacre rather chose 
In his pavilion to repose. 



Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, 

How these two hostile armies met .'' 
Deeming it were no easy task 

To keep the truce which here was set ; 
Where martial spirits, all on fire, 
Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 
By mutual inroads, mutual blows, 
By habit, and by nation, foes, 

They met on Teviot's strand ; 
They met and sat them mingled down, 
Without a threat, without a frown. 

As brothers meet in foreign land : 
The hands, the spear that latelygrasped. 
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped, 

Were interchanged in greeting dear ; 
Visors were raised, and faces shown. 
And many a friend, to friend made 
known. 

Partook of social cheer. 
Some drove the jolly bowl about ; 

With dice and draughts some chased 
the day, 
And some, with many a merry shout, 
In riot, revelry, and rout. 

Pursued the football play. 



Yet, be it known, had bugles blown. 

Or sign of war been seen. 
Those bands, so fair together ranged, 
Those hands, so frankly interchanged, 

Had dyed with gore the green : 
The merry shout by Teviot side 
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide. 

And in the groan of death ; 
And whingers, now in friendship bare. 
The social meal to part and share. 

Had found a bloody sheath. 
'Twixt truce and war, such sudden 

change 
Was not infrequent, nor held strange. 



In the old Border-day : 
But yet on Branksome's towers and 

town, 
In peaceful merriment, sunk down 

The sun's declining ray. 



The blithesome signs of wassail gay 
Decayed not with the dying day : 
Soon through the latticed windows tall 
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, 
Divided square by shafts of stone, 
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
Nor less the gilded rafters rang 
With merry harp and beakers' clang : 

And frequent, on the darkening plain, 
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran. 

As bands, their stragglers to regain. 
Give the shrill watchword of their 
clan ; 
And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
Douglas' or Dacre's conquering name. 



Less frequent heard, and fainter still, 

At length the various clamors died ; 
And you might hear, from Branksome 
hill. 

No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 
Save when the changing sentinel 
The challenge of his watch could tell ; 
And save where, through the dark 

profound. 
The clanging axe and hammer's sound 

Rung from the nether lawn ; 
For many a busy hand toiled there. 
Strong pales to shape and beams to 

square, 
The lists' dread barriers to prepare 

Against the morrow's dawn. 



Margaret from hall did soon retreat, 
Despite the Dame's reproving eye ; 

Nor marked she, as she left her seat, 
Full many a stifled sigh ; 

For many a noble warrior strove 

To win the Flower of Teviot's love. 
And many a bold ally. 

With throbbing head and anxious heart. 

All in her lonely bower apart, 
In broken sleep she lay : 

By times, from silken couch she rose; 



»^ 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



While yet the bannered hosts repose, 

She viewed the dawning day : 
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
First woke the loveliest and the best. 



She gazed upon the inner court. 

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay ; 
Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and 
snort. 
Had rung the livelong yesterday; 
Now, still as death ; till, stalking slow, — 
The jingling spurs announced his 
tread, — 
A stately warrior passed below ; 

Butwhen he raised his plumed head — 
Blessed Mary ! can it be ? 
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers. 
He walks through Branksome's hostile 
towers, 
With fearless step and free. 
She dared not sign, she dared not 

speak — 
O, if one page's slumbers break, 
His blood the price must pay ! 
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, 
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears, 
Shall buy his life a day. 



Yet was his hazard small : for well 
You may bethink you of the spell 

Of that sly urchin page ; 
This to.his lord he did impart. 
And made him seem, by glamour art, 

A knight from Hermitage. 
Unchallenged thus, the Warder's post, 
The court, unchallenged, thus he 
crossed. 

For all the vassalage : 
But O, what magic's quaint disguise 
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 

She started from her seat ; 
While with surprise and fear she strove. 
And both could scarcely master love, — 

Lord Henry 's at her feet. 



Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
That foul malicious urchin had 

To bring this meeting round ; 
For happy love 's a heavenly sight, 
And by a vile malignant sprite 

In such no joy is found ; 



n 



And oft I 've deemed, perchance he 

thought 
Theirerringpassion might havewrought 

Sorrow, and sin, and shame ; 
And death to Cranstoun's gallant 

Knight, 
And to the gentle Ladye bright, 

Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
But earthly spirit could not tell 
The heart of them that loved so well. 
True love's the gift which God has 

given 
To man alone beneath the heaven ; 
It is not fantasy's hot fire, 

^y hose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; 
It liveth not in fierce desire. 
With dead desire it doth not die ; 
It is the secret sympathy, 
The silver link, the silken tie. 
Which heart to heart, and mind to 

mind, 
In body and in soul can bind. 
Now leave we Margaretand her Knight, 
To tell you of the approaching fight. 



Their warning blasts the bugles blew. 
The pipe's shrill port aroused each 
clan ; 
In haste, the deadly strife to view, 
The trooping warriors eager ran : 
Thick round the lists their lances stood. 
Like blasted pines in Ettrick Wood ; 
To Branksome many a look they threw. 
The combatants' approach to view, 
And bandied many a word of boast 
About the knight each favored most. 



Meantime full anxious was the Dame ; 
For now arose disputed claim 
Of who should fight for Deloraine, 
'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestane : 

They 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 
And frowning brow on brow was beni ; 

But yet not long the strife, — for, lo ! 
Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, 
Strong, as it seemed, and free from 
pain. 

In armor sheathed from top to toe, 
Appeared, and craved the combat due- 
The Dame her charm successful knew, 
And the fierce chiefs their claims with- 
drew. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



29 



"When for the lists they sought the plain, 
The stately Ladye's silken rein 

Did noble Howard hold ; 
Unarmed by her side he walked. 
And much, in courteous phrase, they 
talked 

Of feats of arms of old. 
Costly his garb, — his Flemish ruff 
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff, 

With satin slashed and lined ; 
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur. 
His cloak was all of Poland fur, 

His hose with silver twined ; 
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, 
Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers 

still 
Called noble Howard, Belted Will. 



Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, 
Whose footcloth swept the ground : 
White was her wimple, and her veil, 
And her loose locks a chaplet pale 

Of whitest roses bound ; 
The lordly Angus, by her side. 
In courtesy to cheer her tried ; 
Without his aid, her hand in vain 
Had strove to guide her broidered rein. 
He deemed she shuddered at the sight 
Of warriors met for mortal fight ; 
But cause of terror, all unguessed. 
Was fluttering in her gentle breast. 
When, in their chairs of crimson placed. 
The Dame and she the barriers graced. 



Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
An English knight led forth to view ; 
Scarce rued the boy his present plight, 
So much he longed to see the fight. 
Within the lists, in knightly priSe, 
High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 
Their leading staffs of steel they wield, 
As marshals of the mortal field ; 
While to each knight their care as- 
signed 
Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
J.n King and Queen, and Warden's 
name, 



That none, while lasts the strife, 
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, 
Aid to a champion to afford, 

On peril of his life ; 
And not a breath the silence broke, 
Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke : — 



ENGLISH HERALD. 

" Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 

Good knight and true, and freely 
born. 
Amends from Deloraine to crave, 

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 

Is traitor false by Border laws ; 
This with his sword he will maintain, 

So help him God, and his good 
cause I " 

XX. 

SCOTTISH HERALD. 

" Here standeth William of Deloraine, 
Good knight and true, of noble strain. 
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain. 
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his 
coat : 
And that, so help him God above ! 
He will on Musgrave's body prove. 
He lies most foully in his throat." 

LORD DACRE. 

" Forward, brave champions, to the 

fight ! 
Sound trumpets ! " — 

LORD HOME. 

— " God defend the right ! " — 
Then, Teviot ! how thine echoes rang, 
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 

Let loose the martial foes, 
And in mid list, with shield poised high, 
And measured step and wary eye, 

The combatants did close. 



Ill would it suit your gentle ear, 

Ye lovely listeners, to hear 

How to the axe the helms did sound, 

And blood poured down from many a 

wound ; 
For desperate was the strife, and long, 
And either warrior fierce and strong. 



3° 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



But, were each dame a listening knight, 

I well could tell how warriors fight ! 

For I have seen war's lightning flash- 
ing. 

Seen the claymore with bayonet clash- 
ing, 

Seen tlirough red blood the war-horse 
dashing. 

And scorned, amid the reeling strife, 

To yield a step for death or life. 



'T is done, 't is done ! that fatal blow 
Has stretched him on the bloody 

plain ; 
He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, 

no ! 
Thence never shalt thou rise again ! 
He chokes in blood, — some friendly 

hand 
Undo the visor's barred band. 
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, 
And give him room for life to gasp ! 
O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar, 
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! 
Of all his guilt let him be shriven, 
And smooth his path from earth to 

heaven ! 

XXIII. 

In haste the holy Friar sped : — 
His naked foot was dyed with red, 

As through tlie lists he ran : 
Unmindful of the shouts on high. 
That hailed the conqueror's victory. 

He raised the dying man ; 
Loose waved his silver beard and hair, 
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer ; 
And still the crucifix on high 
He holds before his darkening eye ; 
And still he bends an anxious ear. 
His faltering penitence to hear ; 

Still props him from the bloody sod, 
Still, even when soul and body part. 
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, 

And bids him trust in God ! 
Unheard he prays ; — the death- pang 's 

o'er ! 
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 



As if exhausted in the fight, 

Or musing o'er the piteous sight, 

The silent victor stands ; 
His beaver did he not unclasp, 



Marked not the shouts, felt not the grstsp 

Of gratulating hands. 
When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
Mingled with seeming terror, rise 
Among the Scottish bands : 
And all, amid the thronged array, 
In panic haste gave open way 
To a half-naked ghastly man, 
Wlio downward from the castle ran : 
He crossed the barriers at a bound, 
And wild and haggard looked around, 

As dizzy, and in pain ; 
And all upon the armed ground 

Knew William of Deloraine ! 
Each ladyesprungfrom seat with speed ; 
Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 

" And who art thou," they cried, 
" Who hast this battle fought and 

won ? " 
His plumed helm was soon undone — 

" Cranstoun of Teviot side ! 
For this fair prize I 've fought and 

won," — 
And to the Ladye led her son. 



Full oft the rescued boy she kissed. 
And often pressed him to her breast ; 
For, under all her dauntless show. 
Her heart had throbbed at every blow ; 
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she 

greet. 
Though low he kneeled at her feet. 
Me lists not tell what words were made. 
What Douglas, Home, and Howard 

said, — 
For Howard was a generous foe, — 
And how the clan united prayed 

The Ladye would the feud forego, 
And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
Of Cranstoun's Lord and Tevioc's 

Flower. 

XXVI. 

She looked to river, looked to hill. 
Thought on the Spirit's prophecy. 

Then broke her silence stern and still, — 
" Not you, but Fate, has vanquished 
me : 

Their influence kindly stars may shower 

On Teviot's tide and Branksome's 
tower. 
For pride is quelled, and love is free. " 

She took fair Margaret by the hand, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



31 



Who, breathless, trembling, scarce 
might stand ; 

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave 
she : — 
•'As I am true to thee and thine, 
Do thou be true to me and mine ! 

This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
For this is your betrothing day, 
And all these noble lords shall stay 

To grace it with their company." 



All as they left the listed plain. 
Much of the story she did gain ; 
How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, 
And of his page, and of the Book 
Which from the wounded Knight he 

took ; 
And how he sought her castle high, 
That morn, by help of gramarye ; 
Iiow, in Sir William's armor dight. 
Stolen by his page, while slept the 

Knight, 
He took on him the single fight. 
But half his tale he left unsaid. 
And lingered till he joined the maid. — 
Cared not the Ladye to betray 
Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
But well shetliought, eremidnightcame, 
Of that strange page the pride to tame. 
From his foul hands the Book to save. 
And send it back to Michael's grave. — 
Needs not to tell each tender word 
'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's 

lord; 
Nor how she told the former woes, 
And how her bosom fell and rose, 
While he and Musgrave bandied 

blows. — 
Needs not these lovers' joys to tell : 
One day, fair maids, you '11 know them 

well. 



William of Deloraine, some chance 
Had wakened from hisrdeathlike trance; 

And taught that, in the listed plain. 
Another, in his arms and shield. 
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, 

Under the name of Deloraine. 
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran. 
And hence his presence scared the clan. 
Who held him for some fleeting wraith, 
And not a man of blood and breath. 



Not much this new ally he loved, 
Yet, when he saw what hap had 
proved. 
He greeted him right heartily : 
He would not waken old debate, 
For he was void of rancorous hate. 

Though rude, and scant of courtesy; 
In raids he spilt but seldom blood. 
Unless when men-at-arms withstood. 
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe ; 
And so 't was seen of him, e'en now. 
When on dead Musgrave he looked 
down ; 
Grief darkened on his rugged brow. 

Though half disguised with a frown ; 
And thus, while sorrow bent his head, 
His foeman's epitaph he made : — 



" Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou 
here ! 

I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
For, if I slew thy brother dear. 

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me ; 
And when I lay in dungeon dark. 

Of Naworth Castle, long months 
three. 
Till ransomed for a thousand mark, 

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. 
And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried. 

And thou wert now alive, as I, 
No mortal man should us divide. 

Till one or both of us did die : 
Yet rest thee God ! for well I know 
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
In all the northern counties here. 
Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear, 
Thou wert the best to follow gear. 
'T was pleasure, as we looked behind, 
To see how thou the chase couldst 

wind. 
Cheer the dark bloodhound on his way. 
And with the bugle rouse the fray ! 
I 'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
Dark Musgrave were alive again." — 



So mourned he, till Lord Dacre's band 
Were bowning back to Cumberland 
They raised brave Musgrave from the 

field. 
And laid him on his bloody shield ; 



32 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL: 



On levelled lances, four and four, 
By turns, tlie noble burden bore. 
Before, at times, upon the gale. 
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive 

wail ; 
Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul : 
Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
And thus the gallant knight they bore, 
Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore ; 
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
And laid him in his father's grave. 



The harp's wild notes, though hushed 

the song, 
The mimic march of death prolong ; 
Now seems it far, and now anear. 
Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 
Now seems some mountain-side to 

sweep, 
Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail. 
Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; 
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave. 
Rung the full choir in choral stave. 

After due pause, they bade him tell. 
Why he, wlio touched the harp so well, 
Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, 
Wander a poor and thankless soil, 
When the more generous Southern 

Land 
Would well requite his skilful hand. 

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
His only friend, his harp, was dear, 
Liked not to hear it ranked so high 
Above his flowing poesy : 
Less liked he still that scornful jeer 
Misprised the land he loved so dear; 
High was the sound, as thus again 
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. 



CANTO SIXTH. 

I. 

Breathes there the man, with soul so 

dead, 
Who never to himself hath said. 

This is my own, my native land ! 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him 
burned, 



As home his footsteps he hath turned 

From wandering on a foreign strand \ 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf. 
The wretch, concentred all in self, 
Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust, from whence he 

sprung. 
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 



O Caledonia ! stern and wild. 

Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 

Land of the mountain and the flood. 

Land of my sires ! what mortal hand 

Can e'er untie the filial band 

That knits me to thy rugged strand ! 

Still, as I view each well-known scene, 

Think what is now, and what hath been, 

Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 

Sole friends thy woods and streams 

were left : 
And thus I love them better still, 
Even in extremity of ill. 
By Yarrow's streams still let me stray. 
Though none should guide my feeble 

way ; 
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick brealc. 
Although it chill my withered cheek ; 
Still lay my head by Teviot stone. 
Though there, forgotten and alone, 
The Bard may draw his parting groan. 



Not scorned like me ! to Branksome 

Hall 
The Minstrels came, at festive call ; 
Trooping they came, from near and far, 
The jovial priests of mirth and war ; 
Alike for feast and fight prepared, 
Battle and banquet both they shared. 
Of late, before each martial clan. 
They blew their death-note in the van. 
But now, for every merry mate, 
Rose the portcullis' iron erate ; 
They sound the pipe, they strike the 

string. 
They dance, they revel, and they sing, 
Till the rude turrets shake and rinu. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



33 



Me lists not at this tide declare 

The splendor of the spousal rite, 
How mustered in the chapel fair 
Both maid and matron, squire and 
knight ; 
Me lists not tell of owches rare, 
Of mantles green, and braided hair, 
And kirtles furred with miniver ; 
What plumage waved the altar round, 
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound : 
And hard it were for bard to speak 
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek ; 
That lovely hue which comes and flies 
As awe and shame alternate rise ! 



Some bards have sung, the Ladye high 
Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace. 
So much she feared each holy place. 
False slanders these : — I trust right 

well 
She wrought not by forbidden spell ; 
For mighty words and signs have power 
O'er sprites in planetary hour : 
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, 
Who tamper with such dangerous art, 
But this for faithful truth I say. 

The Ladye by the altar stood. 
Of sable velvet her array, 

And on her head a crimson hood. 
With pearls embroidered and entwined, 
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 
A merlin sat upon her wrist. 
Held by a leash of silken twist. 



The spousal rites were ended soon : 
'T was now the merry hour of noon, 
And in the lofty arched hall 
Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
Steward and squire, with heedful haste. 
Marshalled the rank of every guest ; 
Pages, with ready blade, were there. 
The mighty meal to carve and share : 
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. 
And princely peacock's gilded train, 
And o'er the boar-head, garnished 

brave, 
And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ; 
O'er ptarmigan and venison. 
The priest had spoke his benison. 



Then rose the riot and the din. 
Above, beneath, without, within ! 
For, from the lofty balcony, 
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery ; 
Their clanging bowls old warriors 

quaffed, 
Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed; 
Whispered young knights, in tone more 

mild, 
To ladies fair ; and ladies smiled. 
The hooded hawks, high perched on 

beam. 
The clamor joined with whistling 

scream. 
And flapped their wings, and shook 

their bells, 
In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, 
From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 
Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 
And all is mirth and revelry. 



The Goblin Page, omitting still 
No opportunity of ill. 
Strove now, whi le blood ran hot and high, 
To rouse debate and jealousy ; 
Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, 
By nature fierce, and warm with wine, 
And now in humor highly crossed. 
About some steeds his band had lost. 
High words to words succeeding still, 
Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunt- 
hill ; 
A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
Whom men called Dickon Draw-the- 

sword. 
He took it on the page's say, 
Hunthill had driven these steeds away. 
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas 

rose. 
The kindling discord to compose: 
Stern Rutherford right little said. 
But bit his glove, and shook his head. — 
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
Stout Conrad, cold, and drenched in 

blood. 
His bosom gored with many a wound, 
Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 
Unknown the manner of his death. 
Gone was his brand, both sword and 

sheath ; 
But ever from that time, 't was said, 
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 



34 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



The dwarf, who feared his master's eye 
Might his foul treachery espy, 
Now sought the castle butter}'. 
Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 
Revelled as merrily and well 
As those that sat in lordly selle. 
Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 
The pledge to Arthur Fire- the- Braes ; 
And he, as by his breeding bound, 
To Howard's merrymen sent it round. 
To quit them, on the English side, 
Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
"A deep carouse to yon lair bride." — 
At every pledge, from vat and pail. 
Foamed forth in floods the nut-brown 

ale ; 
While shout the riders every one : 
Such day of mirth ne'er cheered their 

clan. 
Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, 
When in the cleuchthe buck was ta'en. 



The wily page, with vengeful thought, 

Remembered him of Tinlinn's yew, 

And swore it should be dearly bought 

That ever he the arrow drew. 
First he the yeoman did molest 
With bitter gibe and taunting jest ; 
Told how he fled at Solway strife, 
And how Hob Armstrong cheered his 

wife ; 
Then, shunning still his powerful arm, 
At unawares he wrought him harm ; 
From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
Dashed from his lips his can of beer ; 
Then, to his knee sly creeping on. 
With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
The venomed wound and festering joint 
Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
The startled yeoman swore and spurned, 
And board and flagons overturned. 
Riot and clamor wild began ; 
Back to the hall the Urchin ran ; 
Took in a darkling nook his post. 
And grinned, and muttered, " Lost ! 
lost ! lost ! " 



By this, the Dame, lest further fray 
should mar the concord of the day. 
Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 



And first stept forth old Albert Grreme, 
The Minstrel of that ancient name : 
Was none who struck the harp so well. 
Within the Land Debatable ; 
Well friended, too, his hardy kin. 
Whoever lost, were sure to win ; 
They sought the beeves that made their 

broth 
In Scotland and in England both. 
In homely guise, as nature bade. 
His simple song the Borderer said. 



ALBERT GRyEME. 

It was an English ladye bright, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

And she would marry a Scottish knight, 
For Love will still be lord of all. 

Blithely they saw the rising sun. 

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall. 

But they were sad ere day was done, 
Though Love was still the lord of all. 

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine. 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle 
wall ; 

Her brother gave but a flask of wine, 
For ire that Love was lord of all. 

For she had lands, both meadowand lea, 
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle 
wall. 

And he swore her death, ere he would see 
A Scottish knight the lord of all. 



That wine she had not tasted well, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 

When dead in her true love's arms she 
fell. 
For Love was still the lord of all. 

He pierced her brother to the heart. 
Where ihe sun shines fair on Car- 
lisle wall : — 

So perish all would true love part, 
That Love may still be lord of all .' 

And then he took the cross divine, 
(Where the sun shines fair on Car- 
lisle wall,) 

And died for her sake in Palestine ; 
So Love was still the lord of all. 

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



35 



Pray for their souls who died for love, 
For Love shall still be lord of all ! 



As ended Albert's simple lay 

Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, 

Renowned in haughty Henry's court : 
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, 
Fitztraver of the silver song ! 
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 
Who has not heard of Surrey's 
fame ? 
His was the hero's soul of fire, 
And his the bard's immortal name, 
And his was love, exalted high 
By all the glow of chivalry. 



They sought, together, climes afar. 
And oft, witliin some olive grove, 

When even came with twinkling star, 
They sung of Surrey's absent love. 



His step the Italian peasant stayed. 
And deemed that spirits from on high. 

Round where some hermit saint was 
laid, 
Were breathing heavenly melody ; 

So sweet did harp and voice combine, 

To praise the name of Geraldine. 



Fitztraver ! O what tongue may say 
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew. 
When Surrey, of the deathless lay. 

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew ? 
Regardless of the tyrant's frown. 
His harp called wrath and vengeance 

down. 
He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
Windsor's green glades, and courtly 

bowers. 
And, faithful to his patron's name, 
With Howard still Fitztraver came ; 
Lord William's foremost favorite ha, 
And chief of all his minstrelsy. 



FITZTRAVER. 

*Twas All-souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high ; 

He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, 
Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, 

When wise Cornelius promised, by his art. 
To show to him the ladye of his heart, 

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim ; 
Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 

That he should see her form in life and limb. 
And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him. 

XVII. 

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye. 

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, 
Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light 
On mystic implements of magic might : 

On cross, and character, and talisman. 
And almagest, and altar, nothing bright ; 

For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
As watchlight by the bed of some departing man. 



But soon, within that mirror huge and high, 
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 

And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy. 
Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream ; 

Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 
To form a lordly and a lofty room. 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 

Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, 
Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, 
And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. 



Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 

The slender form which lay on couch of Ind ! 
O'er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, 

Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; 
All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, 

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine 
Some strain that seemed her inmost soul to find :^ 

That favored strain was Surrey's raptured line. 
That fair and lovely form the Lady Geraldine. 



Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form, 

And swept the goodly vision all away, — 
So royal envy rolled the murky storm 

O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. 
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 

On thee, and on thy children's latest line, 
The wild caprice of thy despotic sway, 

The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine. 
The murdered Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldine I 



Both Scots and Southern chiefs pro- 
long 
Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 
These hated Henry's name as death, 
And those still held the ancient faith. — 
Then, from his seat, with lofty air, 
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair : 
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
Had with that lord to battle come. 
Harold was bom where restless seas 
Howl round the storm-swept Orca- 

des ; 
Where erst St. Clairs held princely 

sway 
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
Still nods their palace to its fall. 
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — 
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland 

rave. 
As if grim Odin rode her wave ; 
And watched, the whilst, with visage 

pale, 
And throbbing heart, the struggling 

sail ; 
For all of wonderful and wild 
Had rapture for the lonely child. 



And much of wild and wonderful 
In these rude isles might fancy cull ; ■ 
For thither came, in times afar. 
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, 
The Norsemen, trained to spoil and 

blood. 
Skilled to prepare the raven's food ; 
Kings of the main their leaders brave, 
Their barks the dragons of the wave. 
And there, in many a stormy vale. 
The Scald had told his wondrous tale ; 
And many a Runic column high 
Had witnessed grim idolatry. 
And thus had Harold, in his youth. 
Learned many a Saga's rhyme un- 
couth, — 
Of that Sea-Snake tremendous curled. 
Whose monstrous circle girdsthe world; 
Of those dread Maids, whose hideous 

yell 
Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 
Ofchiefs, who, guided through the gloom 
By the pale death-lights of the tomb, 
Ransacked the graves of warriors old. 
Their falchions wrenched from corpses' 
hold, 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



S7 



Waked the deaf tomb with war's^larms, 
And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
With war and wonder all on flame, 
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood 

tree. 
He learned a milder minstrelsy ; 
Yet something of the Northern spell 
Mixed with the softer numbers well. 



HAROLD. 

O, listen, listen, ladies gay ! 

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 

" Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant 
crew ! 

And, gentle ladye, deign to stay I 
Rest thee in Castle Ravetisheuch, 

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 

" The blackening wave is edged with 
white ; 
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
The fishers have heard the Water- 
Sprite, 
Whose screams forebode that wreck 
is nigh. 

*' Last night the gifted Seer did view 
A wet shroud swathed round ladye 
gay ; 
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
Why cross the gloomy firth to- 
day?"— 

" 'T is not because Lord Lindesay 's hei* 
To-night at Roslin leads the ball, 

But that my ladye-mother there 
Sits lonely in her castle hall. 

" 'T is not because the ring they ride, 
And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 

But that my sire the wine will chide, ' 1 
If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle." — ! 

O'er Roslin all that dreary night 1 
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; ! 
'T was broader than the watch-fire's I 
light. 
And redder than the bright moon- 
beam. ) 

It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 

It ruddied all the copse- wood glen ; ( 



'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of 
oak. 
And seen from caverned Hawthorn- 
den. 

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, 
Where Roslin's chiefs uncofirned lie. 

Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
Sheathed in his iron panoply. 

Seemed all on fire within, around. 
Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 

Shone every pillar foliage-bound. 
And glimmered all the dead men's 
mail. 

Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 
Blazed every rose-carved buttress 
fair — 

So still they blaze when fate is nigh 
The lordly line of high St. Clair. 

There are twenty of Roslin's barons 
bold 

Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 
Each one the holy vault doth hold — 

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 

And each St. Clair was buried there. 
With candle, with book , and with 
knell ; 
But the sea-caves rung, and the vsrild 
winds sung, 
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 



So sweet was Harold's piteous lay. 

Scarce marked the guests the dark- 
ened hall, 
Though, long before the sinking day, 

A wondrous shade involved them all : 
It was not eddying mist or fog. 
Drained by the sun from fen or bog : 

Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
And yet, as it came on apace. 
Each one could scarce his neighbor's 
face. 

Could scarce his own stretched hand, 
behold. 
A secret horror checked the feast. 
And chilled the soul of every guest ; 
Even the high Dame stood half aghast, 
She knew some evil on the blast ; 
1 \'. elfish page fell to the ground, 
'^r'CK shi'ddv'^ring, mutterea, '"Found I 
Vund I found ! " 



38 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



Then, sudden, through the darkened air 

A flash of lightning came ; 
So broad, so bright, so red the glare. 

The castle seemed on flame. 
Glanced every rafter of the hall, 
Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
Each trophied beam, each sculptured 

stone, 
Were instant seen and instant gone ; 
Pull through the guests' bedazzled band 
Resistless flashed the levin-brand, 
And filled the hall with smouldering 

smoke. 
As on the elfish page it broke. 

It broke with thunder long and loud. 
Dismayed the brave, appalled the 
proud, — 
From sea to sea the larum rung ; 
On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle 
withal, 
To arms the startled warders 
sprung. 
When ended was the dreadful roar, 
The elfish dwarf was seen no more ! 



Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
Some saw a sight not seen by all ; 
That dreadful voice was heard by some. 
Cry, with loud summons, " Gylbin, 
COME ! " 
And on the spot where burst the 
brand, 
Just where the page had flung him 
down, 
Some saw an arm, and some a hand. 
And some the waving of a gown. 
The guests in silence prayed and shook. 
And terror dimmed each lofty look. 
But none of all the astonished train 
Was so dismayed as Deloraine ; 
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 
'T was feared his mind would ne'er re- 
turn ; 
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan. 
Like him of whom the story ran. 
Who spokethe spectre-hound in Man. 
At length, by fits, he darkly told, 
With broken hint, and shuddering 
cold, — 
I'hat he had seen right certainly, 
A shapt Wiih amice wrapped arouttd. 



With , a -wrought Spanish baldric 
bortnd, 
Like pilgrim fro77t beyond the sea ; 
And knew — but how it mattered not — 
It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 



The anxious crowd, with horror pale. 
All trembling heard the wondrous tale ; 
No sound was made, no word was 

spoke. 
Till noble Angus silence broke ; 
And he a solemn sacred plight 
Did t» St. Bride of Douglas make, 
That he a pilgrimage would take, 
To Melrose Abbey, for the sake 
Of Michael's restless sprite. 
Then each, to ease his troubled breast^ 
To some blessed saint his prayers aa- 

dressed : 
Some to St. Modan made their vows, 
Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, 
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, 
Some to our Ladye of the Isle ; 
Each did his patron witness make. 
That he such pilgrimage would take, 
And monks should sing, and bells 

should toll. 
All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
While vows were ta'en, and prayer.»K 

were prayed, 
'T is said the noble Dame, dismayed, 
Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 



Naught of the bridal will I tell. 
Which after in short space befell : 
Nor how brave sons and daughters 

fair 
Blessed Teviot's Flower and Crans- 

toun's heir : 
After such dreadful scene, 't were vain 
•To wake the note of mirth again. 
More meet it were to mark the day 
Of penitence, and prayer divine, 
M'^hen jiilgrim chiefs, in sad array, 
Sought Melrose' holy shrine. 



With naked foot and sackcloth vest. 
And arms infolded on his breast, 

Did every pilgrim go ; 
The standers-by might hear uneath. 



I 



THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 



39 



Footstep, or voice, or high - drawn 
breath. 

Through all the lengthened row : 
No lordly look, nor martial stride ; 
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, 

Forgotten their renown ; 
Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide 
To the high altar's hallowed side, 

And there they knelt them down : 
Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
The banners of departed brave ; 
Beneath the lettered stones were laid 
The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
From many a garnished niche around 
Stern saints and tortured martyrs 
frowned. 



And slow up the dim aisle afar. 
With sable cowl and scapular. 
And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
The holy Fathers, two and two. 

In long procession came ; 
Taper, and host, and book they bare, 
And holy banner, flourished fair 

With the Redeemer's name. 
Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
The mitred Abbot stretched his hand. 
And blessed them as they kneeled ; 
With holy cross he signed them all. 
And prayed they might be sage in hall 

And fortunate in field. 
Then mass was sung, and prayers were 

said. 
And solemn requiem for the dead ; 
And bells tolled out their mighty peal, 
For the departed spirit's weal ; 
And ever in the office close 
The hymn of intercession rose ; 
And far the echoing aisles prolong 
The awful burden of the song, — 

Dies ir^e, dies illa, 

solvet s.^clum in fa villa ; 
While the pealing organ rung ; 

Were it meet with sacred strain 

To close my lay, so light and vain, 
Thus the holy Fathers sung : — 

XXXI. 

HYMN FOR THE DEAD. 

That day of wrath, that dreadful day. 
When heaven and earth shall passaway, 



What power shall be the sinner's stay? 
How shall he meet that dreadful day? 

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll. 
The flaming heavens together roll ; 
When louder yet, and yet more dread. 
Swells the high trump that wakes the 
dead ! 

O, on that day, that wrathful day, 
When man to judgment wakes from 

clay, 
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, 
Though heaven and earth shall pass 

away ! 

Hushed is the harp, — the Minstrel 

gone. 
And did he wander forth alone ? 
Alone, in indigence and age. 
To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
No ! — close beneath proud Newark's 

tower 
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower ; 
A simple hut ; but there was seen 
The little garden hedged with green, 
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
There sheltered wanderers, by the 

blaze, 
Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
For much he loved to ope his door. 
And give the aid he begged before. 
So passed the winter's day ; but still. 
When summer smiled on sweet Bow- 
hill, 
And July's eve, with balmy breath. 
Waved the blue -bells on Newark. 

heath ; 
When throstles sung in Hairhead- 

shaw. 
And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
And flourished, broad, Blackandro's 

oak. 
The aged Harper's soul awoke ! 
Then would he sing achievements 

high. 
And circumstance of chivalry, 
Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
Forgetful of the closing day ; 
And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
Forsook the hunting of the deer ; . 
And Yarrow, as he rolled along, 
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. 



40 



MARMION. 



M ARM I ON. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

It is hardly to be expected that an Author whom the public have honored with 
some degree of applause should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet 
^he Author of Marmion must be supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its 
success, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, any reputa- 
tion which his first Poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon 
the private adventures of a fictitious character; but is called a Tale of Flodden 
Field, because the hero's fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the 
causes which led to it. The design of the Author was, if possible, to apprise his 
readers, at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for the man- 
ners of the Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far more an at- 
tempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale ; yet he may be 
permitted to hope, from the popularity of The Lav of the Last Minstkel, 
that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times upon a broader scale, 
and m the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the 
Public. 

The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the 
defeat of Flodden, 9th September, 1513. 

ASHESTIEL, 1808. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FIRST. 

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. 

A shesiiel, Ettrick Forest. 

November's sky is chill and drear, 
November's leaf is red and sear : 
Late, gazing down the steepy linn 
That hems our little garden in, 
Low in its dark and narrow glen, 
You scarce the rivulet mightken, 
So thick the tangled greenwood grew, 
So feeble trilled the streamlet through : 
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent 

seen. 
Through bush and brier, no longer 

green. 
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
Brawls over rock and wild cascade, 
And, foaming brown with doubled 

speed. 
Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 



No longer Autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
No more, beneath the evening beam. 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam : 
Away hath passed the heather-bell 
That bloomed so rich on Needpath 

Fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven. 
To sheltered dale and down are driven, 
Where yet some faded herbage pines, 
And yet a watery sunbeam sliines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The withered sward and wintry sky. 
And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill : 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
And wraps him closer from the cold ; 
His dogs no merry circles wheel. 
But, shivering, follow at his heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 



MA RMION. 



41 



My imps, though hardy, bold, and 

wild, 
As best befits the mountain child, 
Feel the sad influence of the hour, 
And wall the daisy's vanished flower : 
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return, 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn 

spray ? 

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's 
flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you frolic light as they. 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings ; 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But O, my country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate ? 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wise ; 
The mind that thought for Britain's 

weal, 
The hand that grasped the victor steel ? 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower tliat blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine, 
Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's 

shrine ; 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 
That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed 

tomb. 

Deep graved in every British heart, 
O never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave. 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ; 
To him, as to the burning levin. 
Short, bright, resistless course was 

given. 
Where'er his country'u foes were found. 
Was heard the fated thunder's sound. 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore. 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was 

no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth, 
Who bade the conqueror go forth, 



And launched that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar ; 
Who, born to guide such high emprise, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sins, an early grave ! 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bawble held the pride of power. 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf, 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's bursting rein. 
O'er their wild mood full conquest 

gained, 
The pride, he would not crush, re- 
strained, 
Showedtheir fierce zeal a worthier cause. 
And brought the freeman's arm to aid 
the freeman's laws. 

Hadst thou but lived, though stripped 
of power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, 
When fraud or danger were at hand ; 
By thee, as by the beacon light, 
Our pilots had kept course aright ; 
As some proud column, though alone. 
Thy strength had propped the tottering 

throne : 
Now is the stately column broke, 
The beacon light is quenched in smoke, 
The trumpet's silver sound is still. 
The warder silent on the hill ! 

O think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claimed his 

prey. 
With Palinure's unaltered mood, 
P'irm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
Ench call for needful rest repelled. 
With dying hand the rudder held. 
Till in his fall, with fateful sway. 
The steerage of the realm gave waj' ! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand 

plains, 
One unpolluted church remains, 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
But still, upon the hallowed day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He who preserved them, Pitt, lies 

here ! 



42 



M ARM I ON. 



Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
Because his rival slumbers nigh ; 
Nor be thy requiescat dumb, 
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
When best employed, and wanted most; 
Mourn genius high, and lore profound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not 

save 
From error him who owns this grave, 
Be every harsher thought suppressed. 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the 

tongue, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and 

sung ; 
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke again, 
"All peace on earth, good-will to men"; 
If ever from an English heart, 
O, here let prejudice depart. 
And, partial feeling cast aside. 
Record that Fox a Briton died ! 
When Europe crouched to France's 

yoke, 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave, 
Was bartered by a timorous slave. 
Even then dishonor's peace he spurned, 
1'he sullied olive-branch returned, 
Stuod for his country's glory fast. 
And nailed her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
A portion in this honored grave. 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 

With more than mortal powers en- 
dowed. 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race. 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like fabled gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each banner proud to stdnd, 
Looked up the noblest of the land, 



Till through the British world were 

known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave. 
Though his could drain the ocean dry, 
A.nd (orce the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with 

these. 
The wine of Hfe is on the lees. 
Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 
Forever tombed beneath the stone, 
Where — taming thought to human 

pride ! — 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'T will trickle to his rival's bier ; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem 

sound. 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
" Here let their discord with them die. 
Speak not for those a separate doom. 
Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
But search the land of living men, 
Where wilt thou find their like again .■' " 

Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 
Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 
Not even your Britain's groans can 

pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse ; 
Then, O, how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from Northern 

clime. 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 
The Bard you deigned to praise your 

deathless names has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay awhile. 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I part. 
Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And all the raptures fancy knew, 
And all the keener rush of blood. 
That throbs through bard in bard-like 

mood. 
Were here a tribute mean and low. 
Though all their mingled streams could 

flow, — 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
in one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 



MA RMION. 



43 



It will not be — it may not last — 
The vision of enchantment 's past : 
Like frostwork in the morning ray, 
The fancied fabric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
And Ion;::, dim, lofty aisle, are gone ; 
And, lingenng last, deception dear. 
The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
Now sl„'.v return the lonely down, 
The silent pastures bleak and brown, 
The farm begirt with copse-wood wild, 
The gambols of each frolic child, 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run, 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
M eater, she says, for me to stray, 
And waste the solitary day. 
In plucking from yon fen the reed. 
And watch it floating down the Tweed ; 
Or idly list the shrilling lay. 
With which the milkmaid cheers her 

way. 
Marking its cadence rise and fail 
As from the field, beneath her pail. 
She trips it down the uneven dale : 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 
Though oft he stop in rustic fear, 
Lest his old legends tire the ear 
Of one, who, in his simple mind. 
May boast of book-learned taste refined. 

But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
(For few have read romance so well,) 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds, 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds, 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
j As when the Champion of the Lake / 
j Enters Morgana's fated house, 
I Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
' Despising spells and demons' force, 
Holdsconverse with the unburiedcorse : 
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to 

move, 
(Alas, that lawless was their love 1 ) 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man, and unconfessed. 
He took the Sangreal's holy quest, 



And, slumbering, saw the vision high, 
He might not view with waking eye. 

The mightiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong : 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin 

dream. 
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme ; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Round again. 
But that a ribald King and Court 
Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; 
Demanded for their niggard pay, 
Y'lX. for their souls, a looser lay. 
Licentious satire, song, and play ; 
The world defrauded of the high design. 
Profaned the God-given strength, and 
marred the lofty line. 

Warmed by such names, well may we 

then, 
Though dwindled sons of little men. 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell. 
Where long through talisman and spell, 
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth. 
On venturous quest to prick again. 
In all his arms, with all his train. 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, 

and scarf. 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his wand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells. 
Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
And Honor, with his spotless shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or 

death ; 
And Valor, lion-mettled lord, 
Leaning upon his own good sword. 

Well has thy fair achievement shown 
A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
Ytene's oaks, — beneath whose shade 
Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. 
And that Red King, who, while of old 



44 



MARMION. 



Through Boldrewood the chase he led, 

By his loved huntsman's arrow bled, — 

Ytene's oaks have heard again 

Renewed such legendary strain ; 

For thou hast sung how He of Gaul, 

I'hat Amadis so famed in hall. 

For Oriana, foiled in fight 

The Necromancer's felon might ; 

And well in modern verse hast wove 

Partenopex's mystic love : 

Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 

A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 



CANTO FIRST, 

THE CASTLE. 



Day set on Norham's castled steep, 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 

And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
The battled towers, the donjon keep, 
The loop-hole grates, where captives 

weep. 
The flanking walls that round it sweep, 

In yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high, 
Moving athwart the evening sky. 

Seemed forms of giant height : 
Their armor, as it caught the rays. 
Flashed back again the western blaze. 

In lines of dazzling light. 



Saint George's banner, broad and gay. 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
The scouts had parted on their search, 

The Castle gates were barred ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

The Warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along. 
Some ancient Border gathering song. 



A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears, 
O'er Horncliff hill a plump of spears, 
Beneath a pennon gay ; 



A horseman, darting from the crowd, 
Like lightning from a summer cloud. 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade, 
That closed the Castle barricade. 

His bugle-horn he blew ; 
The Warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the Captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew ; 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 



'• Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bnng pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance free. 
And bid my heralds ready be. 
And every minstrel sound his glee. 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot ; 

Lord Marmion waits below ! " 
Then to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall. 
The iron-studded gates unbarred. 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guar{\ 
The lofty palisade unsparred. 

And let the drawbridge fall. 



Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode> 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode, 
His helm hung at the saddle-bow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight, and keen. 
And had in many a battle been. 
The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
A token true of Bosworth field ; 
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to 

ire ; 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare, 
His thick mustache and curly hair. 
Coal black, and grizzled here and there. 

But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turned joints, and strength 

of limb. 
Showed him no carpet knight so trim. 
But in close fight a champion grim. 

In camps a leader sage. 



I 



MARMION. 



4S 



Well was he armed from head to heel, 

In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all with burnished gold embossed ; 

Amid the plumage of the crest, 

A falcon hovered on her nest, 

With wings outspread, and forward 

breast : 
E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 
Soared sable in an azure field : 
The golden legend bore aright, 
ratio cl)pck0 nt me to liratii"^t3 titgljt. 
Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 
Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 
The knightly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 



Behind him rode two gallant squires 
Of noble name and knightly sires; 
They burned the gilded spurs to claim ; 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw the bow, the sword could 

sway. 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 



Four men-at-arms came at their backs. 
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : 
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so 

strong. 
And led his sumpter-mules along. 
And ambling palfrey, when at need 
Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
The last and trustiest of the four 
On high his fo^y pennon bore ; 
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, 
Where, blazoned sable, as before, 
The. towering falcon seemed to soar. 
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
In hosen black, and jerkins blue, 
With falcons broidered on each breast. 
Attended on their lord's behest : 
Each, chosen for an archer good, 
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend. 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 



Each held a boar-spear tough and 

strong, 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys and array 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 



'T is meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly armed, and ordered how. 

The soldiers of the guard, 
With musket, pike, and morion, 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the Castle yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were thee. 
The gunner held his linstock yare. 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and such a clang, 
As then through all his turrets rang, 

Old Norham never beard. 



The guards their morrice-pikes ad- 
vanced. 

The trumpets flourished brave. 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound, 
For, as Lord Marmion crossedthe court. 

He scattered angels round. 
" Welcome to Norham, Marmion ! 

Stout heart, and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 

Thou flower of English land I " 



Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of stone, \ 
By which you reach the donjon gate. 
And there, with herald pomp and state. 

They hailed Lord Marmion : 
They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
And he, their courtesy to requite, 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks' 
weight. 

All as he lighted down. 
" Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Maf' 
mion. 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazoned shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er guarded heart so bold." 



*6 



MARMJON. 



They marshalled him to the Castle hall, 

Where the guests stood all aside, 
And loudly flourished the trumpet call. 

And the heralds loudly cried : — 
" Room, lordlings, room for Lord Mar- 
mion. 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well we know the trophies won 

In the lists at Cottiswold ; 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ; 
To him he lost his lady-love. 

And to the King his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair ; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, 

And saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest 

He wears with worthy pride ; 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
For him who conquered in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye ! " 

XIII. 

Then stepped, to meet that noble Lord, 

Sir Hugh the Heron bold, 
Barun of Twisell, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold. 
He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 

Raised o'er the pavement high. 
And placed him in the upper place, — 

They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

" How the fierce Thirivalls, and 
Ridley s all. 
Stout Williniondswick, 
A nd Hardriding Dick, 
And H Jig hie of Haivdon, and Will 
o' the Wall, 
Have set on Sir A lba7iy Featherston- 

haugh. 
And taken his life at the Deadvian''s- 

shait).'''' 
Scan tilyLordMarmion'sear could brook 

The harper's barbarous lay ; 
Yet much he praised the pains he took, 

And well those pains did pay ; 
For lady's suit and minstrel's strain. 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 



"Now, good Lord Marmion," Herot^ 

says, 

" Of your fair courtesy, 
I pray you bide some little space 

In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from 
rust. 

May breathe your war-horse well ; 
Seldom hath passed a week but giust 

Or feat of arms befell : 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed. 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
St. George ! a stirring life they lead. 

That have such neighbors near. 
Then stay with us a little space. 

Our Northern wars to Ij^arn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace ! " — 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stem. 



The Captain marked his altered look. 

And gave a squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 

And crowned it high in wine. 
" Now pledge me here. Lord Marmion } 

But first I pray thee fair. 
Where hast thou left that page of thine» 
That used to serve thy cup of wine. 

Whose beauty was so rare.' 
When last in Raby towers we met. 

The boy I closely eyed. 
And often marked his cheeks were wet^ 

With tears he fain would hide : 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand, 
To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 

Or saddle battle-steed ; 
But meeter seemed for lady fair. 
To fan her cheek or curl her hair. 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead : 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 

His bosom — when he sighed, 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour "i " 



Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; 
He rolled his kindling eye, 



MARMION. 



47 



With pain his rising wrath suppressed, 

Yet made a calm reply : 
" That boy thou thought'st so goodly 

fair, 
He might not brook the Northern air. 
More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, 
I left him sick in Lindisfarne : 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say, 
Wliy does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage. 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage ? " — 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 



Unmarked, at least uurecked, the taunt, 

Careless the knight replied, 
" No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt. 

Delights in cage to bide : 
Nnrham is grim and grated close, 
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse, 

And many a darksome tov.er ; 
And better loves my lady bright 
To sit in liberty and light 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in our hand. 

Our falcon on our glove ; 
But where shall we find leash or band 

For dame that loves to rove ? 
I,et the wild falcon soar her swing. 
She '11 stoop when she has tired her 
wing." — 

XVIII. 

" Nay, if with royal James's bride 
The lovely Lady Heron bide, 
Beliold me here a messenger. 
Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; 
For, to the Scottish court addressed, 
1 journey at our King's behest. 
And pray you, of your grace, provide 
For me and mine a trusty guide. 
I have not ridden in Scotland since 
James backed the cause of that mock 

prince, 
Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
Then did I march with Surrey's power, 
What time we razed old Aytoun Tow- 
er." — 

xi.x. 
" For such like need, my lord, I trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow ; 



For here be some have pricked as far, 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 
Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's 

ale, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And given them light to set their 

hoods." — 



" Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion 

cried, 
" Were I in warlike wise to ride, 
A better guard I would not lack. 
Than your stout forayers at my back ; 
But, as in form of peace I go, 
A friendly messenger, to know. 
Why through all Scotland, near and far, 
'I'heir King is mustering troops for war, 
I'he sight of plundering Border spears 
Might justify suspicious fears. 
And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 
Break out in some unseemly broil : 
A herald were my fitting guide ; 
Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 
Or pardoner, or travelling priest. 
Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 



The Captain mused a little space. 
And passed his hand across his face : — 
" Fain would I find the guide you want, 
But ill may spare a pursuivant. 
The only men that safe can ride 
Mine errands on the Scottish side : 
And though a bishop built this fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort ; 
Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 
Since our last siege we have not seen ; 
The mass he might not sing or say, 
Upon one stinted meal a day ; 
So safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
And prayed for our success the while. 
Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 
Is all too well in case to ride ; 
The priest of Shoreswood — he could 

rein 
Tlie wildest war-horse in your train ; 
But then, no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man : 
A blithesome brother at the can, 
A welcome guest in hall and bower, 
He knows each castle, town, and tower. 



48 



MARMION. 



In which the wine and ale is good, 
'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 
But that good man, as ill befalls. 
Hath seldom left our castle walls, 
Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, 
In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 
To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
Old Bughtrig found him with his wife ; 
And John, an enemy to strife. 
Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 
The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 
That, if again he venture o'er. 
He shall shrive penitent no more. 
Little he loves such risks, T know ; 
Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." 



Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, 
Carved to his uncle and that lord. 
And reverently took up the word : — 
" Kind imcle, woe were we each one, 
If harm should hap to Brother John. 
He is a man of mirthful speech. 
Can many a game and gambol teach ; 
Full well at tables can he play. 
And sweep at bowls the stake away. 
None can a lustier carol bawl. 
The needfullest among us all. 
When time hangs heavy in the hall, 
And snow comes thick at Christmas 

tide. 
And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
A foray on the Scottish side. 
The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude 
May end in worse than loss of hood. 
Let Friar John, in safety, still 
In chimney-corner snore his fill. 
Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill ; 
Last night to Norham there came one, 
Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 
" Nephew," quoth Heron, "by my fay. 
Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy 

say." — 

XXIII. 

" Here is a holy Palmer come. 

From Salem first, and last from Rome : 

One that hath kissed the blessed tomb, 

And visited each holy shrine, 

In Araby and Palestine ; 

On hills of Armenie hath been. 

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 

By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 

Which parted at the prophet's rod ; 



In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 
'Mid thunder-dint and flashing levin. 
And shadows, mists, and darkness 

given. 
He shows St. James's cockle-shell ; 
Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod, 
Where, darling of each heart and eye. 
From all the youth of .Sicily, 

Saint Rpsalie retired to God. 



" To stout Saint George of Norwich 

merry, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; 
Little he eats, and long will wake, 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But, when our John hath quaffed his ale, 
As little as the wind that blows. 
And warms itself against his nose. 
Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — 



" Gramercy ! " quoth Lord Marmion, 
" Full loath were I that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy. 
If this same Palmer will me lead 

From hence to Holy-Rood, 
Like his good saint, I '11 pay his meed. 
Instead of cockle-shell or bead, 

With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
They know to charm a weary hill 

With song, romance, or lay ; 
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 
Some lying legend, at the least. 
They bring to cheer the way." — 

XXVI. 

" Ah ! noble sir," young Selby said. 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

'* This man knows much, — perchance 

e'en more 
Than he could learn by holy lore. 
Still to himself he 's muttenng, 
And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 



M ARM ION. 



49 



Last night we listened at his cell ; 
Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to 

tell. 
He murmured on till morn, howe'er 
No living mortal could be near. 
Sometimes I thought I heard it plain. 
As other voices spoke again. 
I cannot tell — I like it not — 
Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 
No conscience clear, and void of wrong, 
Can rest awake, and pray so long. 
Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have marked ten aves and two 

creeds." — 



" Let pass," quoth Marmion ; "by my 

fay, 
This man shall guide me on my way, 
Although the great archliend and he 
Had sworn themselves of company. 
So please you, gentle youth, to call 
This Palmer to the Castle hall." 
The summoned Palmer came in place ; 
His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 
In his black mantle was he cJad, 
With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 

On his broad shoulders wrought ; 
The scallop-shell his cap did deck ; 
The crucifix around his neck 

Was from Loretto brought ; 
His sandals were with travel tore. 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 

XXVIII. 

When as the Palmer came in hall. 
Nor lord, nor knight, was there more 

tall. 
Or had a statelier step withal, 

Or looked more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait, 
But strode across the hall of state. 
And fronted Marmion where he sate. 

As he his peer had been. 
But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
And when he struggled at a smile. 

His eye looked haggard wild : 
Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his wan face and sun-burned hair 

She had not known her child. 



Danger, long travel, want, or woe 
Soon change the form that best we 

know, — 
For deadly fear can time outgo, 

And blanch at once the hair ; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face. 
And want can quench the eye's bright 

grace, 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall, 
But this poor Palmer knew them all. 



Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task. 
So he would march with morning tide. 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
" But I have solemn vows to pay, 
And may not linger by the way. 

To fair St. Andrew's bound. 
Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, 
From midnight to the dawn of day, 

Sung to the billows' sound ; 
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dis- 
pel. 

And the crazed brain restore : 
Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
Could back to peace my bosom bring. 

Or bid it throb no more ! " 



And now the midnight draught of sleep, 
Where wine and spices richly steep. 
In massive bowl of silver deep. 

The page presents on knee. 
■Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest. 
The cup went through among the rest, 

Who drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by. 
Though Selby pressed him courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
It hushed the merry wassail roar. 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle naught was heard, 
But the slow footstep of the guard, 

Pacing his sober round. 



With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 
And first the chapel doors unclose ; 



5° 



MA RMION. 



Then, after morning rites were done, 

(A hasty mass from Friar John,) 

And knight and squire had broke their 

fast 
On rich substantial repast, 
Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse : 
Then came the stirrup-cup in course : 
Between the Baron and his host, 
No point of courtesy was lost ; 
High thanks were by Lord Marmion 

paid. 
Solemn excuse the Captain made, 
Till, filing from the gate, had passed 
That noble train, their Lord the last. 
Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
Thundered the cannon from the wall. 

And shook the Scottish shore : 
Around the castle eddied slow 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow, 

And hid its turrets hoar. 
Till they rolled forth upon tlie air. 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
SECOND. 

TO THE REV. JOHN' MARRIOTT, A. M. 

A shestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
The scenes are desert now, and bare. 
Where flourished once a forest fair. 
When these waste glens with copse 

were lined. 
And peopled with the hart and hind. 
Yon Thorn — perchance whose prickly 

spears 
Have fenced him for three hundred 

years. 
While fell around his green compeers — 
Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell 
The changes of his parent dell. 
Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
Waved in each breeze a sapling bough : 
Would he could tell how deep the shade 
A thousand mingled branches made ; 
How broad the shadows of the oak. 
How clung the rowan to the rock, 
And through the foliage showed his 

head, 
With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pines on every mountain sprung. 
O'er every dell what birches hung, 



In every breeze what aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook 1 

" Here, in my shade," methinks he 'd 

say, 
" The mighty stag at noontide lay : 
The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer game, 
(The neighboring dingle bears his 

name,) 
With lurching step around me prowl. 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
1'he mountain boar, on battle set. 
His tusks upon ray stem would whet ; 
While doe, and roe, and red deer good, 
Have bounded by, through gay green- 
wood. 
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower. 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals mustered round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and 

hound ; \ 

And I might see the youth intent 
Guard every pass with cross-bow bent ; 
And through the brake the rangets 

stalk. 
And falconers hold the ready hawk ; 
And foresters, in greenwood trim. 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim. 
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey. 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The startled quarry bounds amain. 
As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply. 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry, 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales, 
L^p pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 
But not more blithe that sylvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler sport ; 
Though small our pomp, and mean ou» 

game. 
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Rememberest thou mygreyhounds true? 
O'er holt or hill there never flew. 
From slip or leash there never sprang. 
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry chase, 
Passed by the intermitted space ; 



MA RMIOy. 



SI 



For we had tair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
We marked each memorable scene, 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now, — for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 
No longer, from thy mountains dun, 
The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 
And while his honest heart glows warm, 
At thought of his paternal farm. 
Round to his mates a brimmer fills. 
And drinks, " The Chieftain of the 

Hills!" 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flow- 
ers, 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carterhaiigh ; 
No youthful Baron 's left to grace 
The Forest Sheriff's lonely chase. 
And ape, in manly step and tone. 
The majesty of Oberon : 
And she is gone whose lovely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ; 
Though if to Sylphid Queen 't were 

given 
To show our earth the charms of Heav- 
en, 
She could not glide along the air. 
With form more light or face more fair. 
No more the widow's deafened ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear : 
At noontide she expects her not. 
Nor busies her to trim the cot : 
Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal ; 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 
The gentle hand by which they 're fed. 

From Yair — which hills so closely 

bind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find, 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and 

toil. 
Till all his eddying currents boil, — 
Her long-descended lord is gone. 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys. 
Companions of my mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, _ 
When thought is speech, and speech is 

truth. 



Close to my side, with what delight 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight. 
When pointing to his airy mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground ! 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
Respite the difference of our years. 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot, long endure ; 
Condemned to stem the world's rude 

tide, 
You may not linger by the side ; 
For Fate'shall thrust you from the shore. 
And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still 
Of the lone mountain and the rill ; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will 

come. 
When fiercer transport shall be dumb, 
And you will think right frequently. 
But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
On the free hours that we have spent 
Together, on the brown hill's bent. 

When musing on companions gone, 
We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
Something, my friend, we yet may gain : 
There is a pleasure in this pain : 
It soothes the love of lonelj; rest. 
Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 
'T is silent amid worldly toils. 
And stifled soon by mental broils ; 
But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
Its still small voice is often heard. 
Whispering a mingled sentiment, 
'Twixt resignation and content. 
Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 
By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; 
Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor 

sedge. 
Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
At once upon the level brink ; 
And just a trace of silver sand 
Marks where the water meets the land. 
Far in the mirror, bright and blue. 
Each hill's huge outline you may view ; 
Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, 
Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there. 
Save where, of land, yon slender line 
Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 
Yet even this nakedness has power. 
And aids the feeling of the hour ; 



52 



MA RMION. 



Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
Where living thing concealed might lie ; 
Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, 
Where swain, or woodman lone, might 

dwell ; 
There 's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
You see that all is loneliness ; 
And silence aids, — though the steep 

hills 
Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
In summer tide, so soft they weep, 
The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too 

rude. 
So stilly is the solitude. 

Naught living meets the eye or ear. 
But well I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath lain Our Lady's chapel low. 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
The peasant rests him from his toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid. 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 

If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
And fate had cut my ties to life, 
Here, have I thought, 't were sweet to 

dwell. 
And rear again the chaplain's cell. 
Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
Where Milton longed to spend his age. 
'T were sweet to mark the setting day 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 
And as it faint and feeble died 
On the broad lake and mountain's side, 
To say, "Thus pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray " ; 
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower. 
And think on Yarrow's faded Flower ; 
And when that mountain-sound 1 heard. 
Which bids us for storm be prepared, 
The distant rustling of his wings, 
As up his force the Tempest brings, 
'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave. 
To sit upon the Wizard's grave, — 
That Wizard-Priest's whose bones are 

thrust 
From company of holy dust ; 
On which no sunbeam ever shines — 
(So superstition's creed divines) — 
Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, 
Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 



And mark the wild swans mount the 

gale, 
Spread wide through mist their snowy 

sail. 
And ever stoop again, to lave 
Their bosoms on the surging wave : 
Then, when against the driving hail 
No longer might my plaid avail. 
Back to my lonely home retire. 
And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; 
There ponder o'er some mystic lay, 
Till the wild tale had all its sway. 
And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 
I heard unearthly voices speak. 
And thought the Wizard-Priest was 

come. 
To claim again his ancient home ! 
And bade my busy fancy range, 
To frame him fitting shape and strange. 
Till from the task my brow I cleared 
And smiled to think that I had feared. 

But chief 't were sweet to think such 

life, 
(Though but escape from fortune's 

strife,) 
Something most matchless good and 

wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour to musing given 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him whose heart is ill at ease 
Such peaceful solitudes displease ; 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war ; 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene. 
Like that which frowns round dark 

Loch-skene. 
There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven, 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven , 
Through the rude barriers of the lake, 
Away its hurrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below. 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave, 
Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell. 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and 
yell. 



MARMION. 



S3 



And well tliat Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene, 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 
To view the bottom of the den, 
Where, deep, deep down, and far within. 
Toils with the rocks the roaring Hnn ; 
Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
White as the snowy charger's tail 
Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. 

Marriott, thy harp, on Isis strung, 
To many a Border theme has rung : 
Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
Of this mysterious Man of Woe. 

CANTO SECOND. 

THE CONVENT. 
I. 

The breeze which swept away the 
smoke 

Round Norham Castle rolled, 
When all the loud artillery spoke, 
With lightning flash and thunder 
stroke, 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It curlid not Tweed alone, that breeze, 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 
It freshly blew, and strong. 
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered 

pile. 
Bound to St. Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 

It bore a bark along. 
Upon the gale she stooped her side. 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 

As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laughed, to see 
Their gallant ship so lustily 

Furrow the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honored 

freight ; 
For on the deck, in chair of state. 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, 
With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 



'T was sweet to see these holy maids, 
Likebirdsescaped togreenwoodshades, 

I'heir first flight from the cage. 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was strange and new, 
I And all the common sights they view 
Their wonderment engage. 



One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 

With many a benedicite ; 
One at the rippling surge grew pale, 

And would for terror pray ; 
Then shrieked, because the sea-dog 

nigh, 
Hisround black head, and sparkling eye, 

Reared o'er the foaming spray ; 
And one would still adjust her veil, 
Disordered by the summer gale, 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy ; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there. 
Save two, who ill might pleasure 

share, — 
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 



The Abbess was of noble blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Ere upon life she cast a look, 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
Combined with vanity and shame ; 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall : 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach 
Was of monastic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower 
To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 
For this, with carving rare and quaint, 
She decked the chapel of the saint. 
And gave the relic-shrine of cost. 
With ivory and gems embossed. 
The poor her Convent's bounty blest, 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 



Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
Reformed on Benedictine school ; 
Her cheek was pale, her form was spare; 
Vigils, and penitence austere. 
Had early quenched the light of youth, 
But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
Though, vain of her religious sway, 
She loved to see her maids obey ; 



54 



MARMION. 



Yet nothing stern was she in cell, 
And the nuns loved their Abbess well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Lindesfarne, she came, 
There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict, 
On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 

V. 

Naught say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair ; 
As yet a novice unprofessed. 
Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead. 
Or, worse, who had dishonored fled. 
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
To one who loved her for her land : 
Herself, almost heart-broken now, 
Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom! 

VI. 

She sat upon the galley's prow. 
And seemed to mark the waves below ; 
Nay, seemed, so fixed her look and eye,' 
To count them as they glided by. 
She saw them not— 'twas seeming all- 
Far other scene her thoughts recall, — 
A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. 
Nor waves, nor breezes, murmured 

there ; 
There saw she, where some careless 

hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 
1 u hide It till the jackals come 
To tear it from the scanty tomb. — 
See what a woful look was given. 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 

VII. 
Lovely, and gentle, and distressed, — 
These charms might tame the fiercest 

breast ; 
Harpers have sung, and poets told. 
That he, in fury uncontrolled. 
The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
Before a virgin, fair and good, 
Hath pacified his savage mood. 
But passions in the human frame 
Oft put the lion's rage to shame : 



:^i 



And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 
With sordid avarice in league. 
Had practised with their bowl and knife 
Against the mourner's harmless life. 
Ihis crime was charged 'gainst those 

who lay 
Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIII. 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and halls successive 

rise. 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them 

lay. 
And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They marked, amid her trees, the hall 
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck 

floods 
Rush to the sea through sounding 

woods ; 
They passed the tower of Widdering- 

ton. 
Mother of many a valiant son ; 
At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 
To the good Saint who owned the cell ; 
Then did the Alne attention claim, 
And Warkworth, proud of Percy's 

name ; 
And next they crossed themselves to 

hear 
The whitening breakers sound so near. 
Where, boiling through the rocks, they 

roar 
On Dunstanborough's caverned hore ; 
Thy tower, proud Bamborough, m^Tked 

they there. 
King Ida's castle, huge and square. 
From its tall rock look grimly down. 
And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
Then from the coast they bore away. 
And reached the Holy Island's bay. 

IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain, 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
Varies from continent to isle; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 
The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; 
Twice every day, the waves efface 
Of staves and sandalled feet the trace. 



I 



MARMION. 



55 



As to the port the galley flew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The Castle with its battled walls, 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark red pile. 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned, 
With massive arches broad and round, 
That rose alternate, row and row. 
On ponderous columns, short and low, 

Built ere the art was known, 
By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk. 
The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls the heathen Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful was such strength to these. 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they, 
Which could twelve hundred years 

withstand 
Winds, waves, and Northern pirates' 

hand. 
Not but that portions of the pile, 
Rebuilded in a later style. 
Showed where the spoiler's hand had 

been ; 
Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
Had worn the pillar's carving quaint. 
And mouldered in his niche the saint, 
And rounded, with consuming power, 
The pointed angles of each tower; 
Yet still entire the Abbey stood. 
Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 



Soon as they neared his turrets strong. 

The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 

And with the sea-wave and the wind, 

Theirvoices, sweetly shrill, combined. 

And made harmonious close ; 
Then, answering from the sandy shore, 
Half drowned amid thebreakers' roar, 

According chorus rose : 
Down to the haven of the Isle, 
The monks and nuns in order file, 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there, 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare ; 
And, as they caught the sounds on air, 
They echoed back the hymn. 



The islanders, in joyous mood. 
Rushed emulously through the flood, 

To hale the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, 

And blessed them with her hand. 



Suppose we now the welcome said, 
Suppose the Convent banquet made : 

All through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might pry. 
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye, 

The stranger sisters roam : 
Till fell the evening damp with dew, 
And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, 
For there, even summer night is chill. 
Then, having strayed and gazed their 
fill. 

They closed around the fire ; 
And ail, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid ; for, be it known. 
That their saint's honor is their own. 



Then Whitby's nuns exulting told, 
How to their house three Barons bold 

Must menial service do ; 
While horns blow out a note of shame, 
And monks cry, '* Fye upon your name I 
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game. 

Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 
"This, on Ascension-day, each year, 
While laboring on our harbor-pier. 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 
They told how in their convent-cell 
A Sa.xon princess once did dwell. 

The lovely Edelfled. 
And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone, 

When holy Hilda prayed : 
Themselves, within their holy bound, 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 
As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. 
They do their homage to the saint. 

XIV. 

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail 
To vie with these in holy tale ; 



56 



MARMION. 



His body's resting-place of old, 

How oft their patron changed, they 

told ; 
How, when the rude Dane burned their 

pile, 
The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
O'er northern mountain, marsh, and 
moor, 
rom sea to sea, from shore to shore, 
.Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse 
they bore. 
They rested them in fair Melrose ; 

But though, alive, he loved it well, 
Not there his relics might repose ; 

For, wondrous tale to te!l ! 
In his stone-coffin forth he rides, 
A ponderous bark for river tides, 
Yet light as gossamer it glides, 
Downward to Tilmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there. 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street and Rippon saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last, 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 

Looks down upon the Wear : 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place. 
Save of his holiest servants three, 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, 
Who share that wondrous grace. 



Who may his miracles declare ! 
Even Scotland's dauntless king and 
heir 

(Although with them they led 
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in 

mail. 
And the bold men of Teviotdale) 

Before his standard fled. 
'T was he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
And turned the Conqueror back again. 
When, with his Norman bowyer band. 
He came to waste Northumberland. 



But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn, 
I^ on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 



Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
The sea-born beads that bear his name : 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told. 
And said they might his shape be- 
hold. 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form. 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering 
storm JH 

And night was closing round. |H 

But this, as tale of idle fame, ^ 

The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 



While round the fire such legends go. 
Far different was the scene of woe. 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 
Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone, that vault, 
Than the worst dungeon cell : 

Old Colwulf built it, for his fault, 
In penitence to dwell. 
When he, for cowl and beads, laid dow» 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight. 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light, 
Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
A place of burial for such dead 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 
'T was new a place of punishment ; 
Whence it so loud a shriek were sent. 

As reached the upper air. 
The hearers blessed themselves, anfl 

said. 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their torments there. 



But though, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go, 
Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
Where the place lay; and still more 

few 
Were those who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blindfold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung, 
From the rude rock the side-walls 
sprung ; 



M ARM ION. 



57 



The gravestones, rudely sculptured 

o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
Were all the pavement of the floor ; 
The mildew-drops fell one by one. 
With tinkling plash upon thi^ stone. 
A cresset, in an iron chain. 
Which served to light this drear domain, 
With damp and darkness teemed to 

strive, 
As if it scarce might keep klive ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 



There, met to doom in secrecy. 

Were placed the heads of convents 

three : 
All servants of Saint Benedict, 
The statutes of whose order strict 

On iron table lay ; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone, 
Behind were these three judges shown 

By the pale cresset's ray : 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there. 
Sat for a space with visage bare, 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell. 
And tear-drops that for pity fell, 

She closely drew her veil : 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess. 
By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, 

And she with awe looks pale : 
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night, 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone, 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown, 

Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; 
For sanctity called, through the Isle, 

The Saint of Liudisfarne. 



Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
But, though an equal fate they share, 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied. 
Obscured her charms, but could not 
hide. 
Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 

And, on her doublet breast. 
She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 



But at the Prioress' command, 
A monk undid the silken band. 

That tied her tresses fair, 
And raised the bonnet from her head, 
And down her slender form they spread. 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know, 
Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
Whom the church numbered with the 

dead, 
For broken vows, and convent fled. 



When thus her face was given to view, 
(Although so pallid was her hue, 
It did a ghastly contrast bear 
To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 
Her look composed, and steady eye. 
Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 
And there she stood so calm and pale, 
That, but her breathing did not fail, 
And motion slight of eye and head. 
And of her bosom, warranted 
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. 
You might have thought a form of wax. 
Wrought to the very life was there ; 
So still she was, so pale, so fair. 



Her comrade was a sordid soul, 

Such as does murder for a meed ; 
Who, but of fear, knows no control, 
Because his conscience, seared and foul, 

Feels not the import of his deed ; 
One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the tempter ever needs, 
To do the savagest of deeds ; 
For them no visioned terrors daunt. 
Their nights no fancied spectres haunt, 
One fear with them, of all most base, — 
The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
His body on the floor to dash. 
And crouch, like hound beneath the 

lash ; 
While his mute partner, standing near. 
Waited her doom without a tear. 

XXIII. 

Yet well the luckless wretch might 

shriek. 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 



S8 



M ARM ION. 



For there were seen in that dark wall, 
1 wo niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; — 
Who enters at such grisly door, 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
By each, in Benedictine dress. 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch. 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch : 
Retiecting back the smoky beam. 
The dark red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were dis- 
played. 
And building-tools in order laid. 



These executioners were chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes, 
And with despite and envy fired, 
Into the cloister had retired ; 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
Strove, by deep penance, to efface 

Of some foul crime the stain ; 
For, as the vassals of her will, 
Such men the Church selected still, 
As either joyed in doing ill. 
Or thought more grace to gain, 
If, in her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings their nature strove to own. 
By strange device were they brought 

there, 
They knew not how, nor knew not 
where. 



And now that blind old Abbot rose, 
To speak the Chapter's doom. 

On those the wall was to enclose 
Alive within the tomb ; 

But stopped, because that woful Maid, 

Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. 

Twice she essayed, and twice in vain ; 

Her accents might no utterance gain ; 

Naught but imperfect murmurs slip 

From her convulsed and quivering lip ; 
'Tvvixt each attempt all was so still. 
You seemed to hear a distant rill, — 

'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempest there you scarce could 
hear 
So massive were the walls. 



At length, an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart, 

And light came to her eye, 
And color dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a fluttered streak. 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 

By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
And when her silence broke at length,. 
Still as she spoke she gathered strength, 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy, 

In form so soft and fair. 



" I speak not to implore your grace, 
Well know I, for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue ; 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 
For if a death of lingering pain 
To cleanse my sins be penance vain, 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil ; 
For three long years I bowed ray 

pride, 
A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
And well my folly's meed he gave, 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyond the grave. — 
He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of broad lands the heir. 
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
And Constance was beloved no more. -• 

'T is an old tale, and often told ; 
But did my fate and wish agree. 

Ne'er had been read, in story old. 

Of maiden true betrayed for gold. 
That loved, or was avenged, like 
me. 

XXVIII. 

" The King approved his favorite's 

aim ; 
In vain a rival barred his claim. 

Whose fate with Clare's was plight. 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on they 
came, 
In mortal lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said. 
Their prayers are prayed. 
Their lances in the rest are laid. 



M ARM I ON. 



59 



They meet in mortal shock ; 
And, hark ! the throng, with thunder- 
ing cry, 
Shout, 'Marmion ! Marraion! to the sky, 

De Wilton to the block ! ' 
Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide 
When in the lists two champions ride, 

Say, was Heaven's justice here ? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death, 

Beneath a traitor's spear? 
How false the charge, how true he fell. 
This guilty packet best can tell." — 
Then drew a packet from her breast, 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the 
rest. — 

XXIX. 

" Still was false Marmion'sbridal stayed ; 
To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 

The hated match to shun. 
'Ho! shifts she thus?' King Henry 

cried : 
* Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, 

If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remained : the King's com- 
mand 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land ; 
I lingered here, and rescue planned 

For Clara and for me ; 
This caitiff monk for gold did swear 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 
And by his drugs my rival fair 

A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
Whose cowardice has undone us both. 



" And now my tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
This packet, to the King conveyed. 
Had given him to the headsman's 

stroke, 
Although my heart that instant broke. — 
Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
For I can suffer, and be still ; 
And come he slow, or come he fast, 
It is but Death who comes at last. 



" Yet dread me, from my living tomb. 
Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome 1 



If Marmion's late remorse shouldwake, 
Full soon such vengeance will he take, 
That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
Had rather been your guest again. 
Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
The altars quake, the crosier bends. 
The ire of a despotic King 
Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 
Then shall these vaults, so strong and 

deep, 
Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 
Some traveller then shall find my bones 
Whitening amid disjointed stones. 
And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
Marvel such relics here should be." 



Fixed was her look, and stern her air ; 
Back from her shoulders streamed her 

hair ; 
The locks, that wont her brow to shade, 
Stared up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seemed to rise more high ; 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the jstonished conclave sate ; 
With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form. 
And listened for the avenging storm ; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was said, 
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given, 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven : ■ '- 
" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
Sinful brother, part in peace ! " 

From that dire dungeon, place of 

doom. 
Of execution top, and tomb. 

Paced forth the judges three ; 

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 

The butcher- work that there befell, 

When they had glided from the cell 

Of sin and misery. 



An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But, ere they breathed the fresher air, 
They heard the shriekings of despair, 

And many a stifled groan ; 
With speed their upward way they takp, 
(Such speed as age and fear can makf:,) 
And crossed themselves for terror'ssakei, 

As hurrying, tottering on ; 



MARMION. 



Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 
They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled. 
His beads the wakeful hermit told. 
The Bamborough peasant raised his 

head, 
But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell, 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
Listed before, aside, behind, 
Then couched him down beside the 

hind. 
And quaked among the mountain fern, 
To hear that sound so dull and stern. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
THIRD. 

TO WILLIAM ERSI^INE, ESQ. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 

t/iKE April morning clouds, that pass. 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
And imitate, on field and furrow, 
Life's checkered scene of joy and sor- 
row ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth. 
Now winding slow its silver train. 
And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
Like breezes of the Autumn day. 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast. 
When the ear deems its murmur past ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or smks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
Pleased, views the rivulet afar, 
Weaving its maze irregular ; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn 

trees : 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale ! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license all too well, 



In sounds now lowly, and now strong, 

To raise the desultory song ? — 

Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, 

Some transient fit of lofty rhyme 

To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 

For many an error of the muse. 

Oft hast thou said : " If, still misspent, 

Thine hours to poetry are lent, 

Go, and, to tame thy wandering course, 

Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 

Approach those masters o'er whose ^ 

tomb S{ 

Immortal laurels ever bloom : S 

Instructive of the feebler bard, 
Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 
From them, and from the paths they 

showed. 
Choose honored guide and practised 

road ; 
Nor ramble on through brake and maze, 
With harpers rude, of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later time 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 
For Brunswick's venerable hearse? 
What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
When valor bleeds for liberty? — 
O, hero of that glorious time. 
When, with unrivalled light sublime, — 
Though martial Austria, and though all 
The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
Though banded Europe stood herfoes->- 
The star of Brandenburgh arose ! 
Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
Forever quenched in Jena's stream. 
Lamented Chief ! — it was not given 
To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 
And crush that dragon in its birth. 
Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
Lamented Chief! — not thine the power 
To save in that presumptuous hour, 
When Prussia hurried to the field, 
And snatched the spear, but left the 

shield ! 
Valor and skill 't was thine to try. 
And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 
The last, the bitterest pang to share. 
For princedoms reft, and scutcheons 

riven, 
And birthrights to usurpers given ; 
Thy lands, thy children's wrongs to feel, 
And witness woes thou couldst not heai ! 



MA RMION. 



61 



On thee relenting Heaven bestows 
For honored life an honored close ; 
And when revolves, in time's sure 

change, 
The hour of Germany's revenge, 
When, breathing fury for her sake. 
Some new Arminius shall awake. 
Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
To whet his sword on Brunswick's 

tomb. 

"Or of the Red-Cross hero teach. 
Dauntless in dungeon as on breach : 
Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar ; 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls. 
Which the grim Turk, besmeared with 

blood. 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that whose thundering voice could 

wake 
The silence of the polar lake, 
When stubborn Russ, and metalled 

Swede, 
On the warped wave their death-game 

played ; 
Or that where Vengeance and Affright 
Howled round the father of the figlit. 
Who snatched, on Alexandria's sand, 
The conqueror's wreath with dying 

hand. 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line, 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp which silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore. 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er ; 
When she, the bold enchantress, came. 
With fearless hand and heart on flame 1 
From the pale willow snatched the 

treasure, 
And swept it with a kindred measure, 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love. 
Awakening at the inspired strain. 
Deemed their own Shakespeare lived 
again." 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment 
wronging, 
With praises not to me belonging, 
In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
Wouldsl thou engage my thriftless hours. 



But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
That secret power by all obeyed. 
Which warps not less the passive mind, 
Its source concealed, or undefined ; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
Soon as the infant wakes on earth. 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether fitlier termed the sway 
Of habit formed in early day ? 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
And drags us on by viewless chain, 
While taste and reason plead in vain. 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why. 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
He seeks not eager to inhale 
The freshness of the mountain gale, 
Content to rear his whitened wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
He '11 say, from youth he loved to sea 
The white sail gliding by the tree. 
Or see yon weather-beaten hind, 
Whose sluggish herds before him wind, 
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
Through England's laughing meads he 

goes. 
And England's wealth around him 

flows : 
Ask, if it would content him well, 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell, 
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant 

screen. 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between ? 
No ! not for these would he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range : 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bennevis gray, and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
Of tales that charmed me yet a child. 
Rude though they be, still with the 

chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain 

tower, 
Which charmed my fancy's wakening 

hour. 
Though no broad river swept along, 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 



62 



MARMION. 



Thoughsighednogroves in summer gale, 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's 

reed ; 
Yet was poetic impulse given, 
By the green hill and clear, blue heaven. 
It was a barren scene, and wild, 
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But ever and anon between 
Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
•I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all its round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
The mightiest work of human power ; 
And marvelled as the aged hind 
With some strange tale bewitched my 

mind, 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred 

their horse, 
Their southern rapine to renew. 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue, 
And, home returning, filled the hall 
With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl. 
Methought that still, with trump and 

clang. 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
Methought grim ieatures, seamed with 

scars. 
Glared through the window's rusty 

bars. 
And ever, by the winter hearth. 
Old tales I heard ot woe or mirth. 
Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms, 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 
Of patriot battles, won of old 
By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 
Of later fields of feud and fight. 
When, pouring from their Highland 

height. 
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 
Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
While stretched at length upon the floor, 
Again I fought each combat o'er, 
Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 
The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 
And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 
And still the scattered Southron fled 

before. 



Still, with vain fondness, could I 
trace 
Anew each kind familiar face. 
That brightened at our evening fire ! 
From the thatched mansion's gray- 
haired Sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and 

keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had 

been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors 

sought. 
Content with equity unbought ; 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our fi-equent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could 

paint 
Alike the student and the saint ; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke ; 
For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-willed imp, a grandame's child ; 
But half a plague, and half a jest. 
Was still endured, beloved, caressed. 

For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
The classic poet's well-conned task ? 
Nay, Erskine, nay — On the wild hill 
Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; 
Cherish the tuhp, prune the vine. 
But freely let the woodbine twine. 
And leave untrimmed the eglantine : 
Nay, my fi-iend, nay — Since oft thy 

praise 
Hath given fresh vigor to my lays ; 
Since oft thy judgment could refine 
My flattened thought, or cumbrous line; 
Still kind, as is thy wont, attend. 
And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
Though wild as cloud, as stream, as 

gale, 
Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my Tale 1 



CANTO THIRD. 

THE HOSTEL OR INN. 



The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
The mountain path the Palmer showed 
By glen and streamlet winded still. 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 



MA rmion: 



6j 



Theymight not choose the lowlandroad. 
For the Merse forayers were abroad. 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 
Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down ; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 
Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
And when the stony path began, 
By which the naked peak they wan, 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
Tiie noon had long been passed before 
They gained the height of Lammer- 

moor ; 
Thence winding down the northern way 
Before them, at the close of day, 
Old GifFord's towers and hamlet lay. 



No summons calls them to the tower, 

To spend the hospitable hour. 

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 

His cautious dame, in bower alone. 

Dreaded her castle to unclose. 

So late, to unknown friends or foes. 

On through the hamlet as they paced. 

Before a porch, whose front was graced 

With bush and flagon trimly placed, 

Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
The village inn seemed large, though 

rude ; 
Its cheerful fire and hearty food 

Might well relieve his train. 
Down from their seats the horsemen 

sprung, 
With jingling spurs the court-yard rung ; 
They bind their horses to the stall. 
For forage, food, and firing call. 
And various clamor fills the hall : 
Weighing the labor with the cost, 
Toils everywhere the bustling host. 



Soon by the chimney's merry blaze, 
Through the rude hostel might you 

gaze ; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store. 
And gammons of the tusky boar, 

And savory haunch of deer. 



The chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, around it, and beside. 

Were tools for housewife's hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
The implements of Scottish fray, 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate. 
And viewed around the blazing hearth. 
His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
. Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, 
From ancient vessels ranged aside. 
Full actively their host supplied. 

IV. 

Theirs was the glee of martial breast. 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, 
And mingle in the mirth they made ; 
For though, with men of high degree, 
The proudest of the proud was he, 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey, 
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May, 
With open hand, and brow as free. 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the first to scale a tower, 
As venturous in a lady's bower ; — 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 

V. 

Resting upon his pilgrim staff. 

Right opposite the Palmer stood ; 
His thin dark visage seen but half. 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still fixed on Marmion was his look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could 
brook. 

Strove by a frown to quell ; 
But not for that, though more than once 
Full met theirsternencounteringglance. 

The Palmer's visage fell. 

VI. 

By fits less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 
For still, as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard, 

The'r glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear; 

Thus whispered forth his mind : — 



G4 



MARMION. 



" Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such 

sight ? 
How pale his cheel<, his eye how bripht, 
Whene'er the fire-brand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; 
For his best palfrey, would not I 

Endure that sullen scowl." 



But Marmion, as to chase the awe 
Which thus had quelled their hearts, 

who saw 
The ever-varying fire-light show 
1'hat figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire : — 
" Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some 

lay, 
To speed the lingering night away? 
We slumber by the fire." 



" So please you," thus the youth re- 
joined, 
" Our choicest minstrel 's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear, 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 
Sings livelier from a spring- tide bush, 
No nightingale her lovelorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be, 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavished on rocks, and billows stern, 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
Now must I venture, as I may. 
To sing his favorite roundelay." 



A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, 
The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
Such have I heard, in Scottish land, 
Rise from the busy harvest band, 
When falls before the mountaineer, 
On Lowland plains, the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong. 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
Oft have I listened, and stood still. 
As it came softened up the hill, 
And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languished for their native glen ; 



And thought how sad would be such 

sound 
On Susquehanna's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills again ! 



Where shall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast. 

Parted forever? 
Where, through groves deep and high. 

Sounds the far billow. 
Where early violets die. 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Eleuloro, &c. Soft shall be his pil- 
low. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway, 

Scarce are boughs waving ; 
There, thy rest shalt thou take, 

Parted forever, 
Never again to wake, 

Never, O never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never ! 



Where shall the traitor rest, 

He, the deceiver. 
Who could win maiden's bre^ist. 

Ruin, and leave her? 
In the lost battle. 

Borne down by the flying, 
Where mingles war's rattle 

With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Thereshall hebelj'ing. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall l=\p, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever ; 



a 



MARMtON. 



65 



Blessing shall hallow it, — 
Never, O never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never 1 



It ceased, the melancholy sound ; 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear, 
And plained as if disgrace and ill, 

And shameful death, v.'ere near. 
He drew his mantle past his face, 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space 

Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween. 
That, could theirimport liave been seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce have wished to be their 

prey. 
For Lutterward and Fontenaye. 



High minds, of native pride and force. 
Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains 

have. 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the wounds they 

feel. 
Even while they writhe beneath the 

smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon LordMarmion raised his head. 
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said : — 
" Is it not strange, that, as ye sung,- 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung. 
Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul ? 
Say, what may this portend?" 
Then lirst the Palmer silence broke 
(The livelong day he liad not spoke), 
"The death of a dear friend." 



Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly 

brock, 
Even from his K-ing, a haughty look ; 



Whose accent of command controlled, 
In camps, the boldest of the bold ; 
Thought, look, and utterance failed 

him now, — 
Fallen was his glance, and flushed his 
brow : 

For either in the tone. 
Or something in the Palmer's look, 
So full upon his conscience strook, 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when within 
They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daunts the brave ; 
A fool's wild speech confounds the 

wise, 
And proudest princes veil their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 



Well might he falter ! — By his aid 
Was Constance Beverley betrayed. 
Not that he augured of the doom, 
Which on the living closed the tomb : 
But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 
And wroth, because in wild despair 
She practised on the life of Clare ; 
Its fugitive the Church he gave, 
Though not a victim, but a slave ; 
And deemed restraint in conventstrange 
Would hide her wrongs, and her re- 
venge. 
Himself, proud Henry's favorite peer, 
Held Romish thunders idle fear ; 
Secure his pardon he might hold. 
For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 
Thus judging, he gave secret way. 
When the stern priests surprised their 

prey. 
His train but deemed the favorite page 
Was left behind, to spare his age ; 
Or other if they deemed, none dared 
To mutter what he thought and heard; 
Woe to the vassal who durst pry 
Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 



His conscience slept — he deemed her 

well. 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 
But, wakened by her favorite lay, 
And that strange Palmer's boding say, 
That fell so ominous and drear, 
Full on the object of his fear, 



66 



MARMION. 



To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose ; 
And Constance, late betrayed and 

scorned, 
All lovely on his soul returned ; 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 
She left her convent's peaceful wall, 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror 

mute, 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 
Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 



" Alas ! " he thought, " how changed 

that mien ! 
How changed these timid looks have 

been. 
Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 
Have steeled her brow, and armed her 

eyes ! 
No more of virgin terror speaks 
The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 
Fierce, and unfeminine, are there. 
Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 
And I the cause — for whom were given 
Her peace on earth, her hopes in 

heaven ! — 
Would," thought he, as the picture 

grows, 
" I on its stalk had left the rose ! 
O, why should man's success remove 
The very charms that wake his love ! — 
Her convent's peaceful solitude 
Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 
And, pent within the narrow cell. 
How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 
How brook the stern monastic laws ! 
The penance how — and I the cause ! — 
Vigil and scourge — perchance even 

worse ! " — 
Andtwiceherose tocry, "To horse !" — 
And twice his Sovereign's mandate 

came. 
Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 
And twice he thought, " Gave I not 

charge 
She should be safe, though not at large? 
They durst not, for their island, shred 
One golden ringlet from her head." 

XVIII. 

While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 
Repentance and reviving love, 



Like whirlwinds, whose contending 

sway 
I 've seen Loch Vennachar obey, 
Their Host the Palmer's speech had 

heard. 
And, talkative, took up the word : 

" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who 
stray 
From Scotland's simple land away. 

To visit realms afar. 
Full often learn the art to know 
Of future weal, or future woe. 

By word, or sign, or star ; 
Yet might a knight his fortune hear. 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
These broken words the menials move, 
(For marvels still the vulgar love,) 
And, Marmion giving license cold, 
His tale the Host thus gladly told : — 



THE HOST S TALE. 

" A Clerk could tell what years have 

flown 
Since Alexander filled our throne, 
(Third monarch of that warlike name,) 
And eke the time when here he came 
To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 
A braver never drew a sword ; 
A wiser never, at the hour 
Of midnight, spoke the word of power; 
The same, whom ancient records call 
The founder of the Goblin- Hall. 
I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 
Gave you that cavern to survey. 
Of lofty roof, and ample size. 
Beneath the castle deep it lies ; 
To hew the living rock profound. 
The floor to pave, the arch to round, 
There never toiled a mortal arm, — 
It all was wrought by word and charm ; 
And I have heard my grandsire say, 
That the wild clamor and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell, 
Who labored under Hugo's spell. 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war 
Among the caverns of Dunbar. 



"The King Lord Gifford'scastlesought, 
Deep laboring with uncertain thought ; 



MA RMION. 



«r 



Even then he mustered all his host, 
To meet upon the western coast ; 
For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
Their oars within the Frith of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim, 
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 
Savage of heart, and large of limb ; 
Threatening both continent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 
Lord Gilford, deep beneath the ground, 
Heard Alexander's bugle sound. 
And tarried not his garb to change. 
But, in his wizard habit strange. 
Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight; 
His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
A pointed cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore ; 
His shoes were marked with cross and 

spell. 
Upon his breast a pentacle ; 
His«one, of virgin parchment thin. 
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin. 
Bore many a planetary sign, 
Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 
And in his hand he held prepared 
A naked sword without a guard. 



" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 

Had marked strange lines upon his face; 

Vigil and fast had worn him grim, 

His eyesight dazzled seemed and dim, 

As one unused to upper day ; 

Even his own menials with dismay 

Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 

In his unwonted wild attire ; 

Unwonted, for traditions run, 

He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 

' I know,' he said — (his voice was 

hoarse. 
And broken seemed its hollow force) — 
• I know the cause, although untold, 
Why the King seeks his vassal's hold ; 
Vainly from me my liege would know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 

xxii. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud. 
Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fixed or wandering star, 
The issues of events afar ; 



But still their sullen aid withhold. 
Save when by mightier force controlled. 
Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
And though so potent was the call, 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I deemed a refuge from the spell, 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
But thou — who little know'st thy ' 

might. 
As born upon that blessed night 
When yawning graves, and dying groan, 
Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown — 
With untaught valor shalt compel 
Response denied to magic spell.' — 
' Gramercy,' quoth our Monarch free, 
' Place him but front to front with me. 
And, by this good and honored brand. 
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand, 
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide. 
The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 
His bearing bold the wizard viewed. 
And thus, well pleased, his speech re- 
newed : — 
' There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — 

mark : 
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, 
The rampart seek, whose circling crown 
Crests the ascent of yonder down ; 
A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
And trust thine elfin foe to see, 
In guise of thy worst enemy ; 
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy 

steed — 
Upon him ! and Saint George to speed 1 
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 
Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; — 
If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
I am no warrant for thy life.' 



" Soon as the midnight bell did ring, 
Alone, and armed, forth rode the King 
To that old camp's deserted round ; 
Sir Knight, you well might mark the 

mound. 
Left-hand the town, — the Pictish race. 
The trench, long since, in blood did 

trace : 
The moor around is brown and bare, 
The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know, 
For there the earliest wild-flowers grow; 



68 



MARMIOJV. 



But woe betide the wandering wight, 
That treads its circle in the liight ! 
The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
Gives ample space for full career ; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
The southernmost our Monarch past. 
Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
And on the north, within the ring, 
Appeared the form of England's King, 
Who then, a thousand leagues afar. 
In Palestine waged holy war : 
Yet arms like England's did he wield, 
Alike the leopards in the shield. 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame. 
The rider's length of limb the same : 
Long afterwards did Scotland know, 
Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. 

XXIV. 

" The vision made our Monarch start, 
But soon he manned his noble heart. 
And in the first career they ran. 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance. 
And razed the skin, — a puny wound. 
The King, light leajjing to the ground, 
With naked blade his phantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain. 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 

Memorial of the Danish war ; 
Himself he saw, amid the field, 
On high his brandished war-axe wield. 

And strike proud Haco from his car. 
While all around the shadowy Kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their 

wings. 
'T is said, that, in that awful night. 
Remoter visions met his sight, 
Foreshowing future conquests far. 
When our sons' sons wage northern 

war ; 
A royal city, tower and spire, 
Reddened the midnight sky with fire. 
And shouting crews her navy bore. 
Triumphant to the victor shore. 
Such signs may learned clerks explain, — 
They pass the wit of simple swain. 

XXV. 

" The joyful King turned home again. 
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane ; 



But yearly, when returned the night 
Of his strange combat with the sprite, 

His wound must bleed and smart ; 
Lord Gilford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
Long since beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander fills his grave, 

Our Lady give him rest ! 
Yet still the knightly spear and shield 
The Elfin Warrior doth wield. 

Upon the brown hill's breast ; 
And many a knight hath proved his 

chance. 
In the charmed ring to break a lance. 

But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay.— 

Gentles, my tale is said." 

XXVI. 

The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong, 
And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
Had made a comment sage and long. 

But Marmion gave a sign : 
And, with their lord, the squires retire ; 
The rest around the hostel-fire 

Their drowsy limbs recline : 
For pillow, underneath each head. 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore ; 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 

XXVII. 

Apart, and nestling in the hay 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream. 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
And, close beside him, when he woke, 
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
Stood a tall form with nodding plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion 'swice heknew. — ■ 

XX\'III. 

" Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest ; — 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my 
breast, 



MARMION. 



69 



And graver thoughts hav^e chafed my 

mood : 
The air must cool my feverish blood : 
And fain would I ride forth to see 
The scene of Elfin chivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 
I would not that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale. 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid ; 
Eustace the stable door undid, 
And, darkling, Marmion's steed ar- 
rayed. 
While, whispering, thus the Baron 
said : — 



" Didst never, good my youth, hear tell, 

That on the hour when I was born. 
Saint George, who graced my sire's 

chapelle, 
Down from his steed of marble fell, 

A weary wight forlorn ? 
The flattering chaplains all agree, 
The champion left his steed to me. 
I would, the omen's truth tosliow. 
That I could meet this Elfin Foe ! 
Blithe would I battle for the right 
To ask one question at the sprite ; — 
Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 
An empty race, by fount or sea. 
To dashing waters dance and sing. 
Or round the green oak wheel their 

ring." 
Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode. 
And from the hostel slowly rode. 



Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad. 
And marked him pace the village road. 

And listened to his horse's tramp, 
Till, by the lessening sound. 

He judged that of the PIctish camp 
Lord Marmion sought the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes. 
That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the Church believed, — 

Should, stirred by idle tale. 
Ride forth in silence of the night, 
As hoping half to meet a sprite. 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 



For little did Fitz-Eustace know. 
That passions, in contending flow. 

Unfix the strongest mind : 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
We welcome fond credulity. 

Guide confident, though blind. 



Little for this Eitz- Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited till he heard. 
At distance, pricked to utmost speed. 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come town-ward rushing on ; 
First, dead, as if on turf it trode. 
Then clattering on the village road, — 
In other pace than forth he yode, 

Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from selle, 
And, in his haste, wellnighhe fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw 
And spoke no word as he withdrew ; 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon crest was soiled with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
By stains upon the charger's knee. 
And his left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musing on these wondrous sign 
At length to rest the squire reclines, *" 
Broken and short ; for still, between. 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FOURTH. 

TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ. 

Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 

An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 

" Where is the life which late we 

led?" 
That motley clown in Arden wood. 
Whom humorous Jaques with envy 

viewed, 
Not even that clown could amplify. 
On this trite text, so long as I. 
Eleven years we now may tell, 
Since we have known each other well; 
Since, riding side by side, our hand 
First drew the voluntary brand ; 



70 



MA RMION. 



And sure, through many a varied scene, 
Unkindness never came between. 
Away these winged years have flown. 
To join the mass of ages gone ; 
And though deep marked, like all below. 
With checkered shades of joy and woe ; 
Though thou o'er realms and seas hast 

ranged, 
Markedcities lost, and empireschanged, 
While here, at home, my narrower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and 

fears. 
Fevered the progress of these years, 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months but 

seem 
The recollection of a dream. 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
Since first I tuned this idle lay; 
A task so often thrown aside. 
When leisure graver cares denied, 
That now, November's dreary gale, 
Whose voice inspired my opening tale, 
That same November gale once more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vexed boughs streaming to the 

sky, 
Once more our naked birches sigh. 
And Blackhouse heights and Ettrick 

Pen 
Have donned their wintry shrouds again : 
And mountain dark, and flooded mead. 
Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mixedwith the rack, the snow mists fly ; 
The shepherd, who in summer sun 
Had something of our envy won, 
As thou with pencil, I with pen, 
The features traced of hill and glen ; — 
He who, outstretched the livelong day. 
At ease among the heath-flowers lay. 
Viewed the light clouds with vacant 

look, 
Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 
Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessened tide ; — 
At midnight now, the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labor for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless sun. 
Through heavy vapors dark and dun ; 



When the tired ploughman, dry and 

warm, 
Hears, half-asleep, the rising storm ; 
Hurling the hail and sleeted rain 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive wild deer and 

fox 
To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
To dismal and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above, and white below, 
Decided drives the flaky snow, 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine, 
To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
Whistling and cheering them to aid, 
Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 
His flock he gathers, and he guides. 
To open downs, and mountain-sides, 
Where fiercest though the tempest 

blow, 
Least deeply lies the drift below. 
The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, 
Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
Oft he looks back, while streaming far, 
His cottage window seems a star, — 
Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
Turns patient to the blast tgain. 
And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 
Drives through the gloom his lagging 

sheep. 
If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
Benumbing death is in the gale : 
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, 
Close to the hut no more his own. 
Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
The morn may find the stiffened swain : 
The widow sees, at dawning pale, 
His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
And, close beside him, in the snow, 
Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
Couches upon his master's breast, 
And licks his cheek to break his rest. 

Who envies now the shepherd's lot, 
His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
His rustic kirn's loud revelry, 
His native hill-notes tuned on hirh. 
To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed. 
And all Arcadia's golden creed .'' 



MARMION. 



Ti 



Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
Of human life the varying scene ? 
Our youthful summer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
While the dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the ancient Chief of Troy, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy ; 
But Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those, since each must 

drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of Heav- 
en, 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
Whose lenient sorrows find relief, 
Whose joys are chastened by their grief, 
.rtnd such a lot, my Skene, was thine, 
When thou, of late, wert doomed to 

twine, — 
Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled, 
And blessed the union of his child, 
When love must change its joyous cheer 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ; 
The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold. 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not around his honored urn. 
Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried 
Pour at his name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew, 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
"The widow's shield, the orphan's 

stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
" Thy father's friend forget thou not " ; 
And grateful title may I plead, 
For many a kindly word and deed. 
To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
T is little — but 't is all I have. 



To thee, perchance, this rambling 

strain 
Recalls our summer walks again ; 
When, doing naught, — and, to speak 

true. 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged, 
While oft our talk its topic changed. 
And, desultory as our way, 
Ranged, unconfined, from grave to 

gay. . 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, 
No effort made to break its trance, 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too ; 
Thou gravely laboring to portray 
The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; 
I spelling o'er, with much delight. 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire. 
Jealous, each other's motions viewed. 
And scarce suppressed their ancient 

feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the Mayflower 

shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossomed bough, than we. 

And blithesome nights, too, have been 

ours, 
When Winter stript the summer's 

bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear. 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear, 
When fires were bright, and lamps 

i beamed gay. 
And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
And he was held a laggard soul 
Who shunned to quaff the sparkling 

bowl. 
Then he, whose absence we deplore. 
Who breathes the gales of Devon's 

shore. 
The longer missed, bewailed the more ; 
And thou, and I, and dear-loved Rae, 
And one whose name 1 may not say, — 
For not Mimosa's tender tree 
Shrinks sooner from the touch than 

he, — 



72 



HARM ION. 



In merry chorus well combined, 

With laughter drowned the whistling 

wind. 
Mirth was within : and Care without 
Might gnaw her nails to hear our sliout. 
Not but amid the buxom scene 
Some grave discourse might inter- 
vene, — 
Of the good horse that bore him best, 
His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 
For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care 
Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 
Such nights we've had; and, though 

the game 
Of manhood be more sober tame, 
And though the field-day, or the drill, 
Seem less important now — yet still 
Such may we hope to share again. 
The sprightly thought inspires my 

strain ! 
And mark, how, like a horseman true. 
Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 

CANTO FOURTH. 

THE CAMP. 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew. 
And with their light and lively call. 
Brought groom and yeoman to the 

stall. 
Whistling they came, and free of 

heart. 
But soon their mood was changed ; 
Complaint was heard on every part. 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamored loud for armor lost ; 
Some brawled and wrangled with the 

host ; 
" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I 

fear, 
That some false Scot has stolen my 

spear I " — 
Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second 

squire. 
Found his steed wet with sweat and 

mire ; 
Although the rated horse-boy sware 
T.,ast night he dressed him sleek and 

fair. 



While chafed the impatient squire liko 
thunder, 

Old Hubert shouts, in fear and won- 
der, — 

" Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades 

all ! 
Bevis lies dying in his stall ; 
To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 
Of the good steed he loves so well ? " 
Gapmg for fear and ruth, they saw 
The charger panting on his straw ; 
Till one who would seem wisest, cried, — 
" What else but evil could betide. 
With that cursed Palmer for our guide? 
Better we had through mire and'bush 
Been lantern-led by Friar Rush." 



Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but 
guessed. 
Nor wholly understood. 
His comrades' clamorous plaints sup- 
pressed ; 
He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 
And found deep plunged in gloom" 
thought, 
And did his tale display 
Simply, as if he knew of naught 
To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
Passed them as accidents of course, 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 



Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the 

cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish host ; 
And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
" 111 thou deservest thy hire," he said ; 
" Dost see, thou knave, my horse's 

_ plight?. 
Fairies have ridden him all the night, 

And left him in a foam ! 
I trust that soon a conjuring band. 
With English cross, and blazing brand, 
Shall drive the devils from this'land 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I trow. 
All night they trample to and fro." — 
The laughing host looked on the hire, — » 
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire, 



MAR MI on: 



73 



And if thou comest among the rest, 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest, 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
And short the pang to undergo." 
Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way, 
They journeyed all the morning day. 



The greensward way was smooth and 

good, 
Through Humbie's and through Sal- 

toun's wood ; 
A forest glade, which, varying still, 
Here gave a view of dale and hill, 
There narrower closed, till overhead, 
A vaulted screen the branches made. 
" A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 
" Such as where errant-knights might 

see 
Adventures of high chivalry ; 
Might meet some damsel flying fast, 
With hair unbound, and looks aghast ; 
And smooth and level course were 

here. 
In her defence to break a spear. 
Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 
And oft, in such, the story tells. 
The damsel kind, from danger freed, 
Did grateful pay her champion's meed. " 
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's 

mind ; 
Perchance to show his lore designed ; 

For Eustace much had pored 
Upon a huge romantic tome. 
In the hall-window of his home. 
Imprinted at the antique dome 

Of Caxton, or De Worde ; 
Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in 

vain. 
For Marmion answered naught again. 

V. 

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill. 

Were heard to echo far : 
Each ready archer grasped his bow. 
But by the flourish soon they know, 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band. 

Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they rode, 



When thinner trees, receding, showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade. 
The halting troop a line had made, 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 



First came the trumpets, at whose clang, 

So late the forest echoes rang ; 

On prancing steeds they forward 

pressed. 
With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 
Each at his trump a banner wore. 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, 

came. 
In painted tabards, proudly showing 
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing, 

Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon 

held. 
That feudal strife had often quelled. 
When wildest its alarms. 



He was a man of middle age ; 
In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 

As on King's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home ; 
The flash of that satiric rage. 
Which, bursting on the early stage. 
Branded the vices of the age, 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and 
breast. 
Silk housings swept the ground. 
With Scotland's arms, device, and 
crest, 
Embroidered round and round. 
The double tressure might you see, 

First by Achaius borne. 
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, 
And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the King's armorial coat. 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
In living colors, blazoned brave. 
The Lion, which his title gave ; 



74 



MA RMION. 



A train, which well beseemed his state, 
But all unarmed, around him wait. 
Still is thy name in high account. 
And still thy verse has charms, 
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 



Down from his horse did Marmion 

spring. 
Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 
For well the stately Baron knew 
To him such courtesy was due, 
Whom royal James himself had 

crowned. 
And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem ; 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine. 
And on his finger given to shine 

The emblematic gem. 
Their mutual greetings duly made, 
The Lion thus his message said : — 
" Though Scotland's King hath deeply 

swore 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more. 
And strictly hath forbid resort 
From England to his royal court ; 
Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's 

name. 
And honors much his warlike fame, 
My liege hath deemed it shame, and 

lack 
Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
And, by his order, L your guide, 
Must lodging fit and fair provide, 
Till finds King James meet time to see 
The flower of English chivalry." 



Though inly chafed at this delay. 
Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 
Beholding thus his place sujiplied. 

Sought to take leave in vain ; 
Strict was the Lion-King's command. 
That none who rode in Marmion's 
band 

Should sever from the train : 
' England has here enow of spies 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes " : 
To Marchmount thus apart he said. 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
The right-hand path they now decline. 
And trace against the stream the Tyne. 




At length up that wild dale they wind. 

Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the 
bank; 
For there the Lion's care assigned 

A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 
That Castle rises on the steep 

Of the green vale of Tyne : 
And far beneath, where slow they creep, 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
Where alders moist and willows weep, 

You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose ; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 



Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 

Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep, 

Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 

Oft have I traced, within thy fort. 

Of mouldering shields the mystic 

sense. 
Scutcheons of honor, or pretence, 
Quartered in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet had time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair ; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
Whose twisted notes, with roses laced, 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired, below. 
The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
Above its cornice, row and row 
Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form. 
Though there but houseless cattle go, 

To shield them from the storm. 
And, shuddering, still may we explore. 
Where oft whilom were captives 
pent, 
The darkness of thy Massy More ; 
Or, from thy grass-grown battle- 
ment. 
May trace, in undulating line. 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

xn. 
Another aspect Crichtoun showed. 
As through its portal Marmion rode; 



MARMION. 



75 



But yet 't was melancholy state 
Received him at the outer gate ; 
I'or none were in the Castle then, 
But women, boys, or aged men. 
With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing 

dame 
To welcome noble Marmion came ; 
Her son, a stripling twelve years old. 
Proffered the Baron's rein to hold ; 
For each man that could draw a sword 
Had marched that morning with their 

lord, 
Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 
On Flodden, by his sovereign's side ; 
Long may his Lady look in vain !_ 
She ne'er shall see his gallant train_ 
Come sweeping back through Crich- 

toun-Dean. 
'T was a brave race, before the name 
Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 



And here two days did Marmion rest, 
With every rite that honor claims. 
Attended as the King's own guest ; — 
Such the command of Royal James, 
Who marshalled then his land's array, 
Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry, 
Till full prepared was every band 
To march against the English land. 
Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's 

wit 
Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 
And, in bis turn, he knew to prize 
Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and 

wise, — 
Trained in the lore of Rome and 

Greece, 
And policies of war and peace. 



It chanced, as fell the second night, 

That on the battlements they walked. 
And, by the slowly fading light. 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald-bard 
Said, Marmion might his toil have 
spared, 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from heaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war ; 



And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled : — 



SIR DAVID LINDESAY S TALE. 

" Of all the palaces so fair. 

Built for the royal dwelling, 
In Scotland far beyond compare, 

Linlithgow is excelling ; 
And in its park, in jovial June, 
How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 

How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 
The wild-buck bells from ferny brake, 
The coot dives merry on the lake ; 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is, to our Sovereign dear. 
The heaviest month in all the year ; 
Too well his cause of grief you know, 
June saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
The princely boy against his King ! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 



" When last this ruthful month was 

come. 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying ; 
While, for his royal father's soul. 
The chanters sung, the bells did toll. 

The Bishop mass was saying, — 
For now the year brought round again 
The day the luckless king was slain, — 
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, 
With sackcloth shirt and iron belt. 

And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
Around him, in their stalls of state. 
The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, 

Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
Was watching where the sunbeams fell. 

Through the stained casement gleam- 
ing ; 
But, while I marked what next be- 
fell. 

It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
In azure gown, with cincture white ; 



76 



MARMION. 



His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
Now, mock me not, when, good my 

Lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly word. 
That, when I saw his placid grace, 
His simple majesty efface, 
His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the Saint, 
Who propped the Virgin in her faint, — 

The loved Apostle John ! 



" He stepped before the Monarch's 

chair. 
And stood with rustic plainness there. 

And little reverence made ; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent. 
But on the desk his arm he leant, 

And words like these he said. 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and ner\'e, 

and bone : — 
' My mother sent me from afar, 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair. 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : 

God keep thee as he may ! " — 

The wondering Monarch seemed to 
seek 
For answer, and found none ; 

And when he raised his head to speak, 
The monitor was gone. 
The Marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward passed ; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast. 

He vanished from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast. 
That glances but, and dies." 



While Lindesay told his marvel 

strange. 
The twilight was so pale, 
HemarkednotMarmion'scolor change, 
While listening to the tale ; 
But, after a suspended pause, 
The Baron spoke : — "Of Nature's 
laws 
So strong I held the force. 



That never superhuman cause 
Could e'er control their course ; 
And, three days since, had judged your 

aim 
Was but to make your guest your game. 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
What much has changed my sceptic 

creed. 
And made me credit aught — " He 

stayed. 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid : 
But, by that strong emotion pressed, 
Which prompts us to unload our breast, 

Even when discovery 's pain, 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told, 

At Gifford, to his train. 
Naught of the Palmer says he there. 
And naught of Constance, or of Clare ; 
The thoughts which broke his sleep, he 

seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 



" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couched my 
head : 

Fantastic thoughts returned ; 
And, by their wild dominion led, 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode, 
And, as the moon shone bright an'( 

cold, 
Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I passed through j 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Meihought an answer met my ear, — 
Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
So hollov^', and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of my own. 



" Thus judging, for a little space 
I listened, ere I left the place ; 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think they served me true. 
When sudden in the ring I view. 
In form distinct of shape and hue, 

A mounted champion rise. — 
I 've fought, Lord Lion, many a day. 
In single fight, and mixed affraj, 
And ever, I myself may say. 



MARMION. 



77 



Ilave borne me as a knight ; 
3ut when this unexpected foe 
Seemed starting from the gulf below, — 
I care not thougli the truth I show, — 

I trembled with affright ; 
And as I placed in rest my spear, 
My hand so shook for very fear, 

1 scarce could couch it right. 



" Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — 
What could he 'gainst the shock of 
hell ? — 
I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening 

hand. 
The spectre shook his naked brand, — 

Yet did the worst remain : 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight, like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
A face could never be mistook ! 
I knew the stern, vindictive look. 

And held my breath for awe. 
I saw the face of one who, fled 
To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 

I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare 
A human warrior with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the 

blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I 

prayed, 
(The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 

He plunged it in the sheath ; 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : 
The moonbeam drooped, and deepest 
night 
Sunk down upon the heath. — 
'T were long to tell what cause I have 
To know his face, that met me 
there. 
Called by his hatred from the grave, 
To cumber upper air : 
Dead or alive, good cause had he 
To be my mortal enemy." 



Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; 
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 



Such chance had happed of old, 
When once, near Norham, there did 

fight 
A spectre fell of fiendish might. 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 

With Brian Buhner bold. 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 
" And such a phantom, too, 't is said, 
With Highland broadsword, targe, and 
plaid. 

And fingers red with gore, 
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade. 
Or where the sable pine-trees shade 
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchty, or Glenmore. 
And yet whate'er such legends say. 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 

On mountain, moor, or plain. 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. 
True son of chivalry should hold 
These midnight terrors vain ; 
For seldom have such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour. 
When guilt we meditate within. 
Or harbor unrepented sin." — 
Lord Marmion turned him half aside, 
And twice to clear his voice he tried. 

Then pressed Sir David's hand, — 
But naught, at length, in answer said. 
And here their further converse stayed. 

Each ordering that his band 
Should bowne them with the rising day, 
To Scotland's camp to take their way, — • 

Such was the King's command. 



Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 
And I could trace each step they trode : 
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor 

stone. 
Lies on the path to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passing such digression o'er, 
Suffice it that their route was laid 
Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
They passed the glen and scanty rill, 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 



Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 
Among the broom, and thorn, and 
whin, 



78 



MARMION. 



A truant-boy, I sought the nest, 
Or listed, as I lay at rest, 

While rose, on breezes thin, 
The murmur of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud, 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the summit to the plain, 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 

And o'er the landscape as I look. 
Naught do I see unchanged remain, 
Save the rude cliffs and chiming 
brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan. 
Of early friendships past and gone. 



But different far the change has been, 

Since Marmion from the crown 
Of Blackford saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown ; 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 
Spread all the Borough-moor below, 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A thousand, did I say ? I ween, 
Thousands on thousands, there were 

seen. 
That checkered all the heath between 

The streamlet and the town ; 
In crossing ranks extending far, 
Forming a camp irregular ; 
Oft giving way, where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak wood. 
That darkly huge did intervene. 
And tamed the glaring white with green : 
In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 



For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain. 
And from the southern Redswire edge, 
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 
From west to east, from south to north, 
Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
The horses' tramp, and tinkling clank, 
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal 
rank. 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance. 
While frequent flashed, from shield and 
lance. 

The sun's reflected ray. 



Thin curling in the morning air, 
The wreaths of failing smoke declare 
To embers now the brands decayed. 
Where the night-watch their fires had 

made. 
They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 
Full many a baggage-cart and wain, ^ 
And dire artillery's clumsy car, Hj 

By sluggish oxen tugged to war ; ^ ' 
And there were Borthwick's Sisters 

Seven, 
And culverlns which France had giveti. 
Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain 
The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor marked they less where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 
Various in shape, device, and hue, 
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and 
blue. 
Broad, narrow, swallow - tailed, and 

square. 
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there 

O'er the pavilions flew. 
Highest and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floating wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and 
straight. 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
Which still in memory is shown. 
Yet bent beneath the standard's 
weight 
Whene'er the western wind un- 
rolled. 
With toil, the huge and cumbrous 
fold. 
And gave to view the dazzling field. 
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold. 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion viewed the landscape 

bright, — 
He viewed it with a chiefs delight, — 
Until within him burned his heart, 
And lightning from his eye did part, 

As on the battle-day ; 
Such glance did falcon never dart. 
When stooping on his prey. 
" O, well, Lord Lion, hast thou said. 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 
Were but a vain essay : 



MA RMION. 



79 



For, by St. George, were that host mine, 
Not power infernal, nor divine, 
Should once to peace my soul incline, 
Till I had dimmed their armor's shine 

In glorious battle-fray ! " 
Answered the Bard, of milder mood, — 
"Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 

That Kings would think withal. 
When peace and wealth their land has 

blessed, 
'T is better to sit still at rest. 

Than rise, perchance to fall." 



Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 

When sated with the martial show 

That peopled all the plain below. 

The wandering eye could o'er it go, 

And mark the distant city glow 
With gloomy splendor red ; 

For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and 
slow. 

That round her sable turrets flow, 
The morning beams were shed, 

And tinged them with a lustre proud, 

Like that which streaks a thunder- 
cloud. 
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, 
Where the huge Castle holds its state, 

And all the steep slope down, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
Piled deep and massy, close and high, 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze, 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 
And as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law : 

And, broad between them rolled, 
The gallant Frith the eye might note. 
Whose islands on its bosom float. 

Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; 
As if to give his rapture vent, 
The spur he to his charger lent. 

And raised his bridle-hand, 
./*nd, making demi-volte in air, 
Cried, " Where 's the coward that 
would not dare 

To fight for such a land ! " 
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ; 
NorMarmion'sfrownrepressedhisglee. 



Thus while they looked, a flourish 

proud. 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, 

And fife, and kettle-drum, 
And sacbut deep, and psaltery, 
And war-pipe with discordant cry, 
And cymbal clattering to the sky. 
Making wild music bold and high, 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells, with distant chime. 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 

And thus the Lindesay spuke : 
"Thus clamor still the war-notes when 
The King to mass his way has ta'en, 
Or to St. Katharine's of Sienne, 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame ; 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their, cheer. 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
In signal none his steed should spare. 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer 

XXXII. 

" Nor less," he said, — " when looking 

forth, 
I view yon Empress of the Norfh 

Sit on her hilly throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers, 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
Her stately halls and holy towers, — 

Nor less," he said, " I moan, 
To think what woe mischance may 

bring, 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant King ; 

Or with the larum call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought, 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply 
bought ! 

Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the field, 
He breaks the champion's spear and 
shield, — ' 

But thou thyself shalt say, 
When joins yon host in deadly stowre, 
That England's dames must weep in 
bower. 

Her monks the death-mass sing : 



8o 



MARMION. 



For never saw'st thou such a power 

Led on by such a King." — 
And now, down winding to the plain, 
The barriers of the camp they gain, 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string. 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing. 
Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 
In the succeeding lay. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
FIFTH. 

TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. 

Edinburgh. 

When dark December glooms the day. 
And takes our autumn joys away ; 
When short and scant the sunbeam 

throws, 
Upon the weary waste of snows, 
A cold and profitless regard. 
Like patron on a needy bard ; 
When sylvan occupation 's done. 
And o'er the chimney rests the gun, 
And hang, in idle trophy, near. 
The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and 

spear ; 
When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 
And greyhound, with his length of limb. 
And pointer, now employed no more, 
Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ; 
When in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 
When from our snow-encircled home. 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
Since path is none, save that to bring 
The needful water from the spring ; 
When wrinkled news-page, thrice 

conned o'er, 
Beguiles ihe dreary hour no more. 
And darkling politician, crossed, 
Inveighs against the lingering post. 
And answering housewife sore com- 
plains 
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; 
When such the country cheer, I come, 
Well pleased, to seek our city home : 
For converse, and for books, to change 
The Forest's melancholy range, 
And welcome, with renewed delight, 
The busy day and social night. 



Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time. 
As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers. 
True, Caledonia's Queen is changed. 
Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent. 
By bulwark, line, and battlement. 
And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
Guarded and garrisoned she stood. 
Denying entrance or resort. 
Save at each tall embattled port ; 
Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long, 
Since, early closed, and opening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate. 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! O, how altered now, 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sitt'st, like Empress at her sport. 
And liberal, unconfined, and free, 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea. 
For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower. 
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tow- 
er, 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 

Not she, the Championess of old. 
In Spenser's magic tale enrolled. 
She for the charmed spear renowned. 
Which forced each knight to kiss the 

ground, — 
Not she more changed, when, placed 

at rest, 
What time she was Malbecco's guest. 
She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 
When, from the corslet's grasp relieved. 
Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, 
Erst hidden by the aventayle ; 
And down her shoulders graceful rolled 
Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 
They who whilom, in midnight fight. 
Had marvelled at her matchless might. 
No less her maiden charms approved, 
But looking liked, and liking loved. 
The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 
And charm Malbecco's cares awliile ; 
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 
Forgot his Columbella's claims, 



MA RAfir?^. 



8i 



And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
Nor durst light Paridel advance, 
Bold as he was, a looser glance. 
She charmed, at once, and tamed the 

heart. 
Incomparable Britomarte ! 

So thou, fair city ! disarrayed 
Of battled wail, and rampart's aid, 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem tliat from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
Still, as of yore. Queen of the North ! 
Still canst thou send thy children forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall, 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turret proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil, 
Full red would stain their native soil. 
Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
The slightest knosp or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renowned for hospitable deed. 
That virtue much with Heaven may 

plead. 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for The Good Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty ; 
Since first, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose. 
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw. 

Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as 
they rise, 
Ho\y gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodin^s, or true or false, to change 
For P'iction's fair romantic range. 
Or for tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim. 
Her wavering lamp I 'd rather trim. 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to 

see, 
Creation of my fantasy, 



Than gaze abroad on reeky fen. 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon? 
The moonlight than the fog of frost ? 
And can we say which cheats the most ? 

But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain. 
Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear, 
Famed Beauclerc called, for that he 

loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem, 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung ? — 
O ! born. Time's ravage to repair. 
And make the dying Muse thy care ; 
Who, when his scythe her hoary foe 
Was poising for the final blow, 
The weapon from his hand could wring, 
And break his glass and shear his 

wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain, 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic moral gay. 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life approved. 
Example honored, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art. 
To win at once the head and heart, — 
At once to charm, instruct, and mend. 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend ! 

Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, O ! 
No more by thy example teach, — 
What few can practise, all can preach, — 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure, 
And boast afHiction's pangs subdued 
By mild and manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given ; 
Forbid the repetition, Heaven ! 

Come listen, then I for thou hast 
known 
And loved the Minstrel's varying tone. 
Who, like his Border sires of old. 
Waked a wild measure rude and bold. 



82 



MARMIOJSr. 



Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 
With wonder heard the Northern strain. 
Come listen ! bold in thy applause, 
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane, 
Irregularly traced and planned. 
But yet so glowing and so grand, — 
So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 
Field, feast, and combat to renew, 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



THE COURT. 



The train has left the hills of Braid ; 
The barrier guard have open made 
(So Lindesay bade) the palisade, 

That closed the tented ground ; 
Their men the warders backward drew. 
And carried pikes as they rode through, 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
Upon the Southern band to stare. 
And envy with theit^ wonder rose, 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 
Such length of shafts, such mighty bows, 
So huge, that many simply thought. 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ; 
And little deemed their force to feel 
Through links of mail, and plates of 

steel. 
When, rattling upon Flodden vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail. 



Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through : 
And much he marvelled one small land 
Could marshal forth such various band : 

For men-at-arms were here. 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
Like iron towers for strength andweight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height. 

With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a lighter 

train. 
Practised their chargers on the plain, 
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show. 



To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 
And high curvet, that not in vain 
The sword sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below. 
He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed, on foot, with faces bare. 

For visor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume nor crest of knight ; 
But burnished were their corseletsbright. 
Their brigantines, and gorgets light, 

Like very silver shone. 
Long pikes they had for standing 
fight. 

Two-handed swords they wore, 
And many wielded mace of weight, 

And bucklers bright they bore. 



On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
In his steel jack, a swarthy vest. 

With iron quilted well ; 
Each at his back (a slender store) 
His forty days' provision bore. 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, 
A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife and brand. 
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer. 
As loath to leave his cottage dear. 

And march to foreign strand ; 
Or musing who would guide his steer 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 

More dreadful far his ire. 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's 

name, 
In eager mood to battle came, 
Their valor like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fading fire. 



Not so the Borderer : — bred to war. 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And joyed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his e:ir could please 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade, 
The light-armed pricker plied hi» 
trade, — 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead. 



MA RMION. 



83 



Burghers, to guard their townships, 
bleed, 

But war 's the Borderer's game. 
Their gain, their glory, their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night, 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way, 
Scarce caring who might win the day, 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Marmion's train passed 

by, 

Looked on at first with careless eye. 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to 

know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the Lord arrayed 
In splendid arms and rich brocade. 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 

" Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there, 
Canst guess which road they '11 home- 
ward ride ? — 
O, could we but on Border side. 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
Might chance to lose his glistering 

hide ; 
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 

CouJd make a kirtle rare." 



Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race, 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the Chiefs their tribes ar- 
rayed, 
And wild and garish semblance made, 
The checkered trews, and belted plaid. 
And varyingnotes the war-pipesbrayed. 

To every varying clan ; 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes with savage stare. 

On Marmion as he passed ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
1'heir frame was sinewy, short, and 
spare, 

And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted Red-deer's undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins well supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head : 
Back from their shoulders hung the 
plaid ; 



A broadsword of imwieldy length, 

A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore. 
And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but O ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the 
bow. 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
Loud were their clamoring tongues, as 

when 
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, 
And, with their cries discordant mixed. 
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 



Thus through the Scottish camp they 

passed. 
And reached the City gate at last, 
Where all around, a wakeful guard. 
Armed burghers kept their watch and 

ward. 
Well had they cause of jealous fear. 
When lay encamped, in field so near, 
The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
As through the bustling streets they 

All was alive with martial show : 
At every turn, with dinning clang. 
The armorer's anvil clashed and rang ; 
Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel 
The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 
Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
Of jarring grindstone was applied. 
Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying 

pace, 
Through street, and lane, and market- 
place. 
Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
While burghers, with important face. 

Described each new-come lord. 
Discussed his lineage, told his name, 
His following, and his warlike fame. 
The Lion led to lodging meet. 
Which high o'erlooked the crowded 
street ; 
There must the Baron rest, 
Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 

Such was the King's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
A banquet rich, and costly wines. 



84 



MARMION. 



To Marmion and his train ; 
And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
And following Lindesay as he leads, 

The palace halls they gain. 

vn. 
Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, 
That night, with wassail, mirth, and 

glee : 
King James within her princely bower 
Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power. 
Summoned to spend the parting hour ; 
For he had charged, that his array 
Should south ward march by break of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song. 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, traced fast and light, 
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past ; 
It was his blithest — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay. 
Cast on the Court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; 
There ladies touched a softer string ; 
With long-eared cap, and motley vest. 
The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
While some, in close recess apart. 
Courted the ladies of their heart, 

Nor courted them in vain ; 
For often, in the parting hour, 
Victorious Love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 
And flinty is her heart, can view 
To battle march a lover true — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 

Nor own her share of pain. 



Through this mixed crowd of glee and 

game. 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came. 

While, reverent, all made room. 
An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know. 
Although, his courtesy to show, 
He doffed, to Marmion bending low. 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal was his garb and mien. 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 



Trimmed with the fur of martin wild 
His vest of changeful satin sheen 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's 

crown, 
The thistle brave, of old renown : 
His trusty blade, Toledo right, 
Descended from a baldric bright ; 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair, 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare ; 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 



The monarch's form was middle size ; 
For feat of strength, or exercise, 

Shaped in proportion fair ; 
And hazel was his eagle eye. 
And auburn of the darkest dye. 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
And, O ! he had that merry glance, 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
And loved to plead, lament, and sue ; — 
Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain, 
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

I said he joyed in banquet bower ; 
But, 'mid his mirth, 't was often strange. 
How suddenly his cheer would change, 

His look o'ercast and lower, 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 
That bound his breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain. 
Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er, 
Forward he rushed, with double glee. 
Into the stream of revelry: 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Startles the courser in his flight. 
And half he halts, half springs aside ; 
But feel^ the quickening spur applied, 
And, straining on the tightened rein. 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plaip 

X. 

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway : 



MA RMION. 



85 



To Scotland's Court she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored, 
And with the King to make accord 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay King allegiance own ; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a turquoise ring and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and 
love. 

For her to break a lance ; 
And strike three strokes with Scottish 

brand, 
And march three miles on Southron 

land, 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest : 
And thus admitted English fair 
His inmost counsels still to share ; 
And thus, for both, he madly planned 
The ruin of himself and land! 

And yet, the sooth to tell. 
Nor England's fair, nor France's 

Queen, 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and 
sheen, 

From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 



His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lith- 

gow's bower. 
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 



The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile. 

And weeps the weary day, 
The war against her native soil. 
Her Monarch's risk in battle broil : — ■ 
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while, 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as she touched and tuned them all, 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 

Was plainer given to view ; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing. 
Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 
And then around the silent ring ; 
And laughed, and blushed, and oft did 

say 
Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, 
She could not, would not, durst not play 1 
At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
Mingled with arch simplicity, 
A soft, yet lively, air she rung, 
While thus the wily lady sung : — 



XII. 

LOCHINVAR. 

LADY heron's SONG. 

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ; 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 

" O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " 



86 



MA RMION. 



" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied; — 
Love swells like the Solway, iaut ebbs like its tide, — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 

The bride kissed the goblet : the knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

• 
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 
So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grjemes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : 

There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 



The Monarch o'er the siren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressing closer, and more near. 
He whispered praises in her ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 
And ladies winked, and spoke aside. 
The witching dame to Marmion 
threw 
A glance, where seemed to reign 
The pride that claims applauses due, 
And of her royal conquest too, 
A real or feigned disdain : 
Familiar was the look, and told, 
Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The King observed their meeting eyes 
With something like displeased sur- 
prise ; 
For monarchs ill can rivals brook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 



Straight took he forth the parchment 

broad 
Which Marmion's high commission 

showed : 
'• Our Borders sacked by many a raid. 
Our peaceful liegemen robbed," he 

said ; 
" On day of truce our Warden slain. 
Stout Barton killed, his vassals ta'en, — 
Unworthy were we here to reign 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn. 
Our herald has to Henry borne." 

XIV. 

He paused, and led where Douglas 

stood. 
And with stern eye the pageant viewed ; 
I mean tliat Douglas, sixth of yore, 
Who coronet of Angus bore, 



MAR MI ON. 



87 



And, when his blood and heart were 

high, 
Did the third James in camp defy, 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary flat : 
Princes and favorites long grew tame, 
And trembled at the homely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; 
The same who left the dusky vale 
Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers. 
Where Bothweli's turrets brave the 

air, 
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His armor for the peaceful gown. 

And for a staif his brand, 
Yet often would flash forth the fire, 
That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand ; 
And even that day, at council board, 

Unapt to soothe his sovereign's 
mood. 

Against the war had Angus stood, 
And chafed his royal lord. 



His giant form, like ruined tower, 
Though fallen its muscles' brawny 

vaunt, 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and 
gaunt, 

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to low- 
er : 
His locks and beard in silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
" Lord Marmion, since these letters 

.say, 
That in the North you needs must stay 

While slightest hopes of peace re- 
main, 
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern, 
To say — Return to Lindisfarne, 
Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold ; 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade. 
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed ; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
More than to face his country's foes. 



And, I bethink me, by St. Stephen, 
But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first-fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
And, while they at Tantallon stay. 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
And, with the slaughtered favorite's 

name. 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 



In answer naught could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swelled wellnigh to 

break : 
He turned aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not 
brook : 

" Now, by the-Bruce's soul, 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive 1 
For sure as doth his spirit live. 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never king did subject hold. 
In speech more free, in war more bold, 

More tender and more true : 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." — 
And, while the King his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To seize the moment Marmion tried. 
And whispered to the King aside : 
" O ! let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed ! 
A child will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart : 
But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees the tears of bearded men. 
Tlien, O ! what omen, dark and high, 
When Douglas wets his manly eye ! " 



Displeased was James, that stranger 

viewed 
And tampered with his changing mood. 
" Laugh those that can, weep those that 

may." 
Thus did the fiery Monarch say, 
" Southward I march by break of day ; 



88 



MARMION. 



And if within Tantallon strong 
The good Lord Marniion tarries long, 
Perchance our meeting next may Wl 
At Tamworth, in his castle hall." - ■ 
The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, 
And answered, grave, the royal vaui't : 
" Much honored were my humble home, 
If in its halls King James should com*" ; 
But Nottingham has archers good, 
And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ' 
Northumbrian prickers wild and rude 
On Derby hills the paths are steep ; 
In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
And many a banner will be torn. 
And many a knight to earth be borne, 
And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 
Ere Scotland's King shall cross the 

Trent : 
Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you 

may ! " — 
The Monarch lightly turned awaj'. 
And to his nobles loud did call, — 
"Lords, to the dance, — a hall! a 

hall!" 
Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 
And led Dame Heron gallantly; 
And minstrels, at the royal order. 
Rung out, — " Blue Bonnets o'er the 

Border." 



Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell. 
Whose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 
Till James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by his command, 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care, 
As escort honored, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
Nor knew which saint she should im- 
plore ; 
For, when she thought of Constance, 
sore 

She feared Lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have felt ! 
'J'he sword, that hung in Marmion's 
belt. 

Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
Unwittingly, King James had given, 

As guard to Whitby's shades. 



en 

I 



The man most dreaded under Heaven 

By these defenceless maids : 
Yet wliat petition could avail. 
Or who would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
'Mid bustle of a war begun? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 

XIX. 

Their lodging, so the King assigned. 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, 
joined ; 
, And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, 
' The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 
Who warned him, by a scroll. 
She had a secret to reveal, 
'^"hat much concerned the Church's 
weal, 
.\nd health of sinner's soul ; 
Ani', with deep charge of secrecy, 

Sh-; named a place to meet, 
Within an open balcony 
That hing from dizzy pitch, and high, 

Abov ^ the stately street ; 
To whic'', a" common to each home. 
At night t)ie> might in secret come. 



At night, in f-jcret, there they came. 
The Palmer a" d the holy Dame. 
The moon amo'^.g the clouds rose high. 
And all the city '^um was by. 
Upon the street, vhere late before 
Did din of war anc" warriors roar. 

You might have ^-'ard a pebble fall, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 
An owlet flap his bodr^g wing 

On Giles's steeple tal' 
The antique buildings, c^'mbing hij;h. 
Whose Gothic frontlets soji2;ht the sky, 

Were here wrapt deep in ""ha.'e ; 
There on their brows the ipooabeam 

broke 
Through the faint wreaths ol silveri 
smoke, 

And on the casements played. 

And other light was none to see, 
Save torches gliding far. 

Before some chieftain of degree, 

Who left the royal revelry 
To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 



MARMION. 



89 



XXI. 

•* O holy Palmer ! " she began, — 
•' For sure he must be sainted man, 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail, 
Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
How vain to those who wed above ! — 
De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
(Idle it were of Whitby's dame, 
To say of that same blood I came ;) 
And once, when jealous rage was high, 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart, 
And had made league with Martin 

Swart, 
When he came here on Simnel's part ; 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove: — the 

thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 
Where frankly did De Wilton own 
That Swart in Gueldres he had known ; 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger returned. 
Judge how De Wilton's fury burned ! 
For in his packet there were laid 
Letters that claimed disloyal aid, 
And proved King Henry's cause be- 
trayed. 
His fame, thus blighted, in the field 
He strove to clear, by spear and 

shield ; — 
To clear his fame in vain he strove. 
For wondrous are His ways above ! 
Perchance some form was unobserved ; 
Perchance in prayer, or faith, he 

swerved ; 
Else how could guiltless champion quail. 
Or how the blessed ordeal fail? 



" His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recreant doomed to suffer law, 

Repentant, owned in vain. 
That, while he had the scrolls in care, 
A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
Had drenched him with a beverage rare ; 

His words no faith could gain. 



With Clare alone he credence won, 
Who, ratlier than wed Marmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
To give our house her livings lair, 
And die a vestal votr'ess there. 
The impulse froin the earth was given, 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade, 
No, not since Saxon Edelfled ; 

Only one trace of earthly stain, 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain, 
And murmurs at the cross. 

And then her heritage ; — it goes 
Along the banks of Tame ; 

Deep fields of grain the reaper mows, 

In meadows rich the heifer lows, 

The falconer and huntsman knows 
Its woodlands for the game. 
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 
And I, her humble vot'ress here. 

Should do a deadly sin, 
Her temple spoiled before mine eyes. 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By my consent should win ; 
Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn 
That Clareshallfrom our house be torn : 
And grievous cause have I to fear 
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 



" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine and grotto dim, 
By every martyr's tortured limb. 
By angel, saint, and seraphim. 

And by the Church of God ! 
For mark ; — When Wilton was be- 
trayed. 
And with his squire forged letters laid, 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid 

By whom the deed was done, — 
O ! shame and horror to be said ! — 

She was a perjured nun ! 
No clerk in all the land, like her. 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Perchance you may a marvel deem. 

That Marmion's paramour 
(For such vile thing she was) should 
scheme 

Her lover's nuptial hour ; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain* 



««» 



MARMION. 



As privy to his honor's stain, 

Illimitable power : 
For this she secretly retained 

Each proof thai might the plot reveal, 
Instructions with his hand and seal ; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned, 

Through sinners' perfidy impure, 
Her house's glory to secure, 
And Clare's immortal weal. 



" 'T were long, and needless, here to 

tell 
How to my hand these papers fell ; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess' true ! 
Who knows what outrage he might do. 

While journeying by the way? — 

blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
To travel or by land or main, 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer : 
I give this packet to thy care. 
For thee to stop they will not dare ; 

And O ! vvith cautious speed 
To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, 
That he may show them to the King : 

And, for thy well-earned meed. 
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine, 

While priests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou ? — Speak ! " — For as 

he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 

His frame ; and, ere replv, 
They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown. 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, 
"Saint Withold, save us! — What is 
here ! 

Look at yon City Cross 1 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear. 

And blazoned banners toss ! " 



Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone, 

Rose on a turret octagon ; 

(But now is razed that monument. 

Whence royal edict rang. 
And voice of Scotland's law was sent 

In glorious trumpet-clang. 



O ! be his tomb as lead to lead, 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison is said.) — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law. 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures that seem to rise and die. 
Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
W hile naught confirmed could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and pursuivants prepare, 
With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, 

A surnmons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud. 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 

A wavermg tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd, 

This awful summons came : — 



" Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ! 
Subjects of him who sent me here. 
At his tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin. 
That e'er hath soiled your hearts within ; 
I cite you by each brutal lust. 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear, 
By each o'er-mastering passion's tone. 
By the dark grave and dying groan ! 
When forty days are passed and gone, 
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne. 

To answer and appear." 
Then thundered forth a roll of names : — 
The first was thine, unhappy James ! 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
Why should I tell their separate style? 

Each chief of birth and fame. 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 
De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
The self-same thundering voice did 
say. — 



MARMION. 



91 



But then another spoke : 
" Thy fatal summons I deny, 
And thine infernal lord defy, 
Appealing me to Him on High, 

Who burst the sinner's yoke." 
At that dread accent, with a scream, 
Parted the pageant like a dream, 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell, 
And fast and fast her beads did tell ; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast. 
What time, or how, the Palmer passed. 



Shift we the scene. — The camp doth 
move, 

Dun-Edin's streets are empty now. 
Save when, for weal of those they love. 

To pray the prayer, and vow the 
vow. 
The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
The gray-haired sire, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines repair, — 
Where is the Palmer now? and where 
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge : 
Lord INIarmion rode on his right hand, 
The Palmer still was with the band ; 
Angus, like Lindesay, did command, 

That none should roam at large. 
But in that Palmer's altered mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen. 

Freely he spoke of war. 
Of marvels wrought by single hand. 
When lifted for a native land ; 
And still looked high, as if he planned 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke. 
And, tucking up his sable frock, 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairly ride. 

XXVIII. 

Some half-hour's march behind, there 
came. 

By Eustace governed fair, 
A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 

With all her nuns, and Clare. 



Noaudiencehad Lord Marmionsought; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 
And safer 't was, he thought. 

To wait till, from the nims removed, 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self approved. 
Her slow consent had wrouglit. 

His was no flickering flame, that dies 
Unless when fanned by looks and 

sighs. 
And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
He longed to stretch his wide coni- 

mand 
O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
Besides, when Wilton with him vied, 
Although the pang of humbled pride 
The place of jealousy supplied. 
Yet conquest, by that meanness won 
He almost loathed to think upon. 
Led him, at times, to hate the cause 
Which made him burst through hon- 
or's laws. 
If e'er he loved, 't was her alone. 
Who died within that vault of stone. 



And now, when close at hand they saw 
North Berwick's town, and lofty Law, 
Fitz- Eustace bade them pause awhile, 
Before a venerable pile. 

Whose turrets viewed, afar. 
The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, fort^ came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
With her, a loved and honored guest. 
Till Douglas should a bark prepare 
To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 
And thanked the Scottish Prioress ; 
And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
The courteous speech that passed be- 
tween. 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys 
leave ; 
But when fair Clara did intend, 
Like them, from liorseback to descend, 

Fitz-Eustace said, — "I grieve. 
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart. 
Such gentle companv to part ; — 

Think not discourtesy. 
But lords' commands must be obeyed ; 



92 



MARMION. 



And Marmion and the Douglas said 

That you must wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 
Which to the Scottish Earl he showed, 
Commanding that; beneath his care, 
Without delay, you shall repair 
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz- 
Clare." 

XXX. 

The startled Abbess loud exclaimed ; 
But she, at whom the blow was aimed, 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom 

read. 
" Cheer thee, my child ! " the Abbess 

said, 
" They dare not tear thee from my hand. 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

" Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care. 

In Scotland while we stay ; 
And, when we move, an easy ride 
Will bring us to the English side, 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir ; 
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord, 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faithful guardian he will be, 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 

That e'en to stranger falls. 
Till he shall place her, safe and free, 

Within her kinsman's halls." 
He spoke, and blushed with earnest 

grace ; 
His faith was painted on his face. 

And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed, 

Entreated, threatened, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed. 
Against Lord Marmion inveighed. 
And called the Prioress to aid, 
To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 
" The Douglas and the King," she said, 
" In their commands will be obeyed ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon hall." 

XXXI. 

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her wonted state again, — 



For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head, 
And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

" Thy master, bold and bad, 
The records of his house turn o'er, 

And, when he shall there written 
see, I 

That one of his own ancestry ' 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry, 
Bid him his fate explore ! 

Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 

His charger hurled him to the dust, 

And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me; 

He is a Chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse ; 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin, 
And Jael thus, and Deborah " — 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
" Fitz-Eustace, we must march our 

band ; 
St. Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand, 

To hear the lady preach ? 
By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay, 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy cap, and mount thy 

horse ; 
The Dame must patience take per- 
force." 



" Submit we then to force," said Clare, 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let him take living, land, and life ; 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 

In me were deadly sin : 
And if it be the King's decree. 
That I must find no sanctuary, 
Li that inviolable dome. 
Where even a homicide might come. 

And safely rest his head. 
Though at its open portals stood, 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood. 

The kinsman of the dead ; 
Yet one asylum is my own 

Agaiust the dreaded hour ; 



I 



MA RMIOlSr. 



93 



A low, a silent, and a lone. 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare ! " 
Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one : 
Weeping and wailing loud arose 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous 
woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried, 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could 
bide. 

Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed, 
And, by each courteous word and deed, 

To cheer her strove in vain. 



But scant three miles the band had 
rode. 

When o'er a height they passed. 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers, Tantallon vast ; 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching 

far. 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose. 
And round three sides the ocean flows. 
The fourth did battled walls enclose, 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. 
Through studded gates, an entrance 
long, 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square : 
Around were lodgings fit and fair, 

And towers of various form. 
Which on the court projected far. 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high, 
Or pinnacle that sought the sky. 
Whence oft the Warder could descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 

Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should I declare, 
Or say they met reception fair ? 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which, varying, to Tantallon came. 
By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame, 

With every varying day ? 



And, first,' they heard King James hadL 
won 

Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then, 

That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion ; — 
And Douglas hoped his monarch's 

hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whispered news there came. 
That, while his host inactive lay. 
And melted by degrees away. 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. — 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 

Go seek them there and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their 
post. 

Which frowns o'er Milfield Plain, 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gathered in the Southern land. 
And marched into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
That hears, without, the trumpet-call. 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 
In castle, like a fearful maid, 

When such a field is near 1 
Needs must I see this battle-day: 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away I 
The Douglas, too, I wot not why, 
Hath 'bated of his courtesy ; 
No longer in his halls I '11 stay." 
Then bade his band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 



INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
SIXTH. 

TO RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 

Mertotot House, Christmas. 

Heap on more wood! — the wind is 

chill : 
But let it whistle as it will. 
We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 
Each age has deemed the new-born year 
The fittest time for festal cheer : 



94 



MARMION. 



Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 
At lol more deep the mead did drain ; 
High on the beach his galleys drew, 
And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
Then in his low and pine-built hall, 
Where shields and axes decked the wall. 
They gorged upon the half-dressed 

steer ; 
Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 
The lialf-gnawedrib and marrow-bone, 
Or listened all, in grim delight, 
While scalds yelledout the joys of fight. 
Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. 
While wildly loose their red locks liy. 
And dancing round the blazing pile, 
They make such barbarous mirth the 

while. 
As best might to the mind recall 
The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had 

rolled. 
And brought blithe Christmas back 

again. 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honor to the holy night ; 
On Christmas Eve the bells were rung ; 
On Christmas Eve the mass was sung ; 
That only night in all the year. 
Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green ; 
Forth to the wood did merry-men go, 
To gather in the mistletoe. 
Then opened wide the baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod nf rule aside. 
And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night mightvillagepartnerchoose; 
The Lord, underogating, share 
The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
All hailed, with uncontrolled delight. 
And general voice, the happy night 
That to the cottage, as the crown. 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

Thefire, with well-driedlogs supplied. 
Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
The huge hall-table's oaken face. 
Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, 



m 



Bore then upon its massive boar 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
Then the grim boar's head frowned on 

high, J 

Crested with bays and rosemary. H 

Well can the green-garbed ranger tell,^ 
How, when, and where the monster 

fell ; 
What dogs before his death he tore. 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The wassail round, in good brown bowls. 
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls, 
There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas 

pie ; 
Nor failed old Scotland to produce, 
At such high tide, her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roared with blithesome din •, 
If unmelodious was the song, 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming see 
Traces of ancient mystery ; 
White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
Ai^d smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
But O ! what maskers, richly dight, 
Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
England was merry England, when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again 
'T was Christmas broached the mighti- 
est ale ; 
'T was Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half tha 
year. 

Still linger, in our Northern clime, 
Some remnants of the good old time ; ' 
And still, within our valleys here. 
We hold the kindred title dear, 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetched 

claim 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem, 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream. 
And thus, my Christmas still I hold 
Where mygreat-grandsire came of old, 
With amber beard and flaxen hair, 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and holy-tide to share. 
And mix sobriety with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 



MA rmion: 



95 



Small thought was his, in after time 
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 
The banished race of kings revered, 
And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome 

kind 
Is with fair liberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendshipgives the hand. 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land. 
Little we heed the tempest drear, 
While music, mirth, and social cheer, 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
When not a leaf is on the bougii. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns 

again. 
As loath to leave the sweet domain, 
And holds his mirror to her face, 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee, 
&^y thought should, Heber, turn to 

thee ! 
For many a merry hour we 've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's 

tone. 
Cease, then, my friend ! a moment 

cease. 
And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
" Were pretty fellows in their day " ; 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
On Christmas Eve a Christmas tale — 
Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 
What ! leave the lofty Latian strain. 
Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 
To hear the clash of rusty arms : 
In Fairy Land or Limbo lost, 
To jostle conjurer and ghost. 
Goblin and witch ! " — Nay, Heber 

dear, 
Before you touch my charter, hear ; 
Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more, 
My cause with many-languaged lore. 
This may I say : — in realms of death 
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith ; 



^neas, upon Thracia's shore, 
'I'he ghost of murdered Polydore ; 
For omens, we in Livy cross. 
At every turn, locutics Bos. 
As grave and duly speaks that ox. 
As if he told the price of stocks ; 
Or held, in Rome republican, 
The place of Common-councilman. 

All nations have their omens drear, 
Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
To Cambria look — the peasant see, 
Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 
And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree." 
The Highlander, whose red claymore 
The battle turned on Maida's shore, 
Will, on a Friday morn, look pale. 
If asked to tell a fairy tale : 
He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
\\ ho leaves that day his grassy ring : 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Did'st e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair? 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay. 
Amassed through rapine and through 

wrong 
By the last Lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 
Around his neck his horn is hung. 
His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds He : 
And 't were not for his gloomy eye. 
Whose withering glance no heart can 

brook, 
As true a huntsman doth he look, 
As bugle e'er in brake did sound, 
Or ever hallooed to a hound. 
To chase the fiend and win the prize, 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged Necromantic Priest ; 
It is an hundred years at least 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 
And neither yet has lost nor won. 
And oft the Conjurer's words will make 
The stubborn demon groan and quake \ 
And oft the bands of iron break. 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
Fast as 't is opened, shuts again. 



96 



MARMION. 



That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom, 
Unless the Adept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell, 
When Franch'mont locked the treasure 

cell. 
An hundred years are passed and gone, 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from Heaven, 
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's 

King, 
Nor less the infernal summoning ; 
May pass the Monk of Durham's 

tale. 
Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail ; 
May pardon plead for Fordun grave, 
Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave. 
But why such instances to you. 
Who, in an instant, can renew 
Your treasured hoards of various lore, 
And furnish twenty thousand more ? 
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes 

rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont 

chest, 
While gripple owners still refuse 
To others what they cannot use ; 
Give them the priest's whole century, 
They shall not spell you letters three : 
Their pleasure in the books the same 
The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
Thy volumes, open as thy heart, 
Delight, amusement, science, art, 
To every ear and eye impart ; 
Yet who, of all who thus employ them, 
Can like the owner's self enjoy them ? — 
But. hark ! I hear the distant drum ! 
The day of Flodden Field is come. — 
Adieu, dear Heber ! life and health, 
And store of literary wealth ! 

CANTO SIXTH. 

THE BATTLp. 



While great events were on the gale, 
And each hour brought a varying tale. 
And the demeanor, changed and cold, 
Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold. 



And, like the impatient steed of war, 

He snuffed the battle from afar ; 

And hopes were none, that back again 

Herald should come from Terouenne, 

Where England's king in leaguer lay. 

Before decisive battle-day ; 

Whilst these things were, the mournful 

Clare 
Did in the Dame's devotions share : 
For the good Countess ceaseless prayed 
To Heaven and Saints her sons to aid, 
And, with short interval, did pass 
From prayer to book, from book to 

mass. 
And all in high Baronial pride, — 
A life both dull and dignified ; — 
Yet as Lord Marmion nothing pressed 
Upon her intervals of rest. 
Dejected Clara well could bear 
The formal state, the lengthened prayet. 
Though dearest to her wounded heart 
The hours that she might spend apart 



I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 
Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
Many a rude tower and rampart there 
Repelled the insult of the air. 
Which, when the tempest vexed the 

sky. 
Half breeze, half spray, came whistling 

by. 
Above the rest, a turret square 
Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 
The Bloody Heart was in the Field, 
And in the chief three mullets stood, 
The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
The turret held a^arrow stair. 
Which, mounted, gave you access 

where 
A parapet's embattled row 
Did seaward round the castle go. 
Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. 
Sometimes in narrow circuit bending. 
Sometimes in platform broad extend- 

Its varying circle did combine 
Bulwark, and bartisan, and line. 
And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign : 
Above the booming ocean leant 
The far projecting battlement ; 
The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, 
Upon the precipice below. 



MA RMION. 



97 



Where'er Tantallon faced the land, 
Gate-works and walls were strongly 

manned ; 
No need upon the sea-girt side ; 
The steepy rock and frantic tide 
Approach of human step denied ; 
And thus these lines and ramparts rude 
Were left in deepest solitude. 



And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there, 

And list the sea-bird's cry ; 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark gray bulwarks' side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 
Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff and swelling main 
Recall the thoughtsof Whitby's fane, — 
A home she ne'er might see again ; 

For she had laid adown, 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
And frontlet of the cloister pale, 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow. 
Again adorned her brow of snow : 
Her mantle rich, whose borders round 
A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In golden foldings sought the ground ; 
Of holy ornament alone 
Remained a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that which in her hand she bore, 
With velvet bound, andbroidered o'er, 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
At dawning pale, or twilight dim. 

It fearful would have been 
To meet a form so richly dressed, 
With book in hand and cross on breast, 

And such a woful mien. 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
To practise on the gull and crow. 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow, 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some love-lorn Fay she might have 

been. 
Or, in Romance, some spell-bound 

Queen ; 
For ne'er in work-day world was seen 

A form so witching fair. 



Once walking thus, at evening-tide, 
It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 
And, sighing, thought — " The Abbess, 

there, 
Perchance, does to her home repair ; 
Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free. 
Walks hand in hand with Charity ; 
Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 
That the enraptured sisters see 
High vision and deep mystery ; 
The very form of Hilda fair, 
Hovering upon the sunny air. 
And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 
O ! wherefore, to my duller eye. 
Did still the Saint her form deny ! 
Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn. 
My heart could neither melt nor burn? 
Or lie my warm affections low 
With him, that taught them first to glow? 
Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew. 
To pay thy kindness grateful due. 
And well could brook the mild com- 
mand. 
That ruled thy simple maiden band. 
How different now ! condemned to bide 
My doom from this dark tyrant's 

pride. — 
But Marmion has to learn, erelong. 
That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 
Descended to a feeble girl. 
From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's 

Earl : 
Of such a stem, a sapling weak. 
He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 



" But see ! — what makes this armor 
here ? " — 
For in her path there lay 
Targe, corselet, helm ; — she viewed 

them near. — 
" The breast-plate pierced ! — Ay, 

much I fear. 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's 

spear. 
That hath made fatal entrance here. 
As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! O ! not corselet's ward, 
Nor truth, as diamond pure and hard, 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 
On yon disastrous day ! " 



98 



HARM JON. 



She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton himself before her stood ! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost ; 
And joy unwonted and surprised, 
Gave their strange wildness to his 

eyes. — 
Expect not, noble dames and lords. 
That I can tell such scene in words : 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint the rainbow's varying hues, 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ? 
Far less can my weak line declare 

Each changing passion's shade ; 
Brightening to rapture from despair, 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, 
And joy, with her angelic air. 
And hope, that paints the future fair, 

Their varying hues displayed : 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blend- 
ing, 
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said. 
By many a tender word delayed. 
And modest blush, and bursting sigh. 
And question kind, and fond reply : — 



DE Wilton's history. 

" Forget we that disastrous day. 
When senseless in the lists I lay. 
Thence dragged, — but how I cannot 
know. 
For sense and recollection fled, — 
I found me on a pallet low. 
Within my ancient beadsman's 
shed. 
Austin, — remember'st thou, my 
Clare, 
How thou didst blush, when the old 

man, 
When first our infant love began, 
Said we would make a matchless 
pair ? — 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head. 
And tended me for many a day. 
While wounds and fever held their 
sway. 



But far more needful was his care, 
When sense returned to wake despair; 

For I did tear the closing wound, 

And dash me frantic on the ground, 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length, to calmer reason brought. 
Much by his kind attendance wrought, 

With him I left my native strand, 
And, in a Palmer's weeds arrayed. 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journeyed many a land ; 
No more a lord of rank and birth, 
But mingled with the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared, 
When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge and deeds of blood, 

Or wild, mad schemes upreared. 
My friend at length fell sick, and 
said, 

God would remove him soon : 
And, while upon his dying bed 

He begged of me a boon — 
If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered 

lie. 
Even then my mercy should awake. 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 



" Still restless as a second Cain, 

To Scotland next my route was ta'en, 

Full well the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various sound. 
That death in pilgrimage I found. 
That I had perished of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true : 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 
For now that sable slough is shed, 
And trimmed my shaggy beard and 

head, 
I scarcely know me in the glass. 
A chance most wondrous did provide, 
That I should be that Baron's guide ^ 

I will not name his name ! — 
Vengeance to God alone belongs : 
But, when I think on all my wrongs. 

My blood is liquid flame ! 
And ne'er the time shall I forget, 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange : 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell ; 
But in my bosom mustered Hel! 

Its plans of dark revenge. 



M ARM I ON. 



99 



" A word of vulgar augury, 
That broke from me, I scarce knew 
why. 

Brought on a village tale ; 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite, 
And sent him armed forth by night 

I borrowed steed and mail, 
And weapons, from his sleeping band ; 

And, passing from a postern door, 
We met, and countered hand to hand, — 

He fell on Gifford moor. 
For the death-stroke my brand I drew 
(O, then my helmed head he knew, 

The Palmer's cowl was gone,) 
Then had three inches of my blade 
1 The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin stayed ; 

I left him there alone. — 
O good old man ! even from the grave 
Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
[ Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear. 
Given to my hand this packet dear. 
Of power to clear my injured fame, 
And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell 

That broke our secret speech, — 
It rose from the infernal shade. 
Or featly was some juggle played, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best. 
When my name came among the rest. 



" Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 
To Douglas late my tale I told, 
' To whom my house was known of old. 
Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 
This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did turn 
The tide of fight on Otterburne, 
And Harry Hotspur forced to yield. 
When the Dead Douglas won the field. 
These Angus gave, — his armorer's care. 
Ere morn, shall every breach repair ; 
For naught, he said, was in his halls, 
But ancient armor on the walls. 
And aged chargers in the stalls. 
And women, priests, and gray-haired 

men ; 
The rest were all in Twisel glen. 



And now I watch my armor here. 
By law of arms, till midnight 's near ; 
Then, once again a belted knight. 
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 



" There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
This Baron means to guide thee there : 
Douglas reveres his King's command. 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil. 
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, 
Once more " — " O Wilton ! must we 

then 
Risk new-found happiness again, 

Trust fate of arms once more? 
And is there not an humble glen, 

Where we, content and poor. 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I 

know 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go 1 
Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel 

And send thee forth to fame ! " 



That night, upon the rocks and bay. 
The midnight moonbeam slumbering 

lay. 
And poured its silver light and pure 
Through loop-hole and through em- 
brasure. 

Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride, 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was their need; though seamed 

with scars. 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 

Though two gray priests were there. 
And each a blazing torch held high, 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 



M ARM ION. 



Amid that dim and smoky light. 
Checkering the silvery moonshine 
bright, 

A bishop by the altar stood, 

A noble lord of Douglas blood, 
With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 
Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
But little pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased that, in a barbarous age, 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, 
Than that beneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doffed his furred gown and sable hood : 
O'er his huge form and visage pale. 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And leaned his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
Which wont of yore, in battle fray, 
His foeman's limbs to shred away. 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 

He seemed as, from the tombs around 
Rising at judgment-day, 

Some giant Douglas may be found 
In all his old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge his hmb, 
So old his arms, his look so grim. 



Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the spurs bound on his heels ; 
And think what next he must have felt, 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

And judge how Clara changed her 
hue. 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struckhim with hisblade ; 
" Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir ! 
For King, for Church, for Lady fair, 

See that thou fight ! " — 
And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
Said, — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy 
woes. 

Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He who honor best bestows, 

May give thee double." — 
De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must, — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 
That Douglas is my brother ! " — 
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 



To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou meet'st them under shield. 
Upon them bravely, — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall him that blenches first 1 " 



Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe-conduct for his band, 
Beneath the Royal seal and hand. 

And Douglas gave a guide ; 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered in an under-tone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is 

flown." — 
The train from out the castle drew. 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 
" Though something I might plain," he 

said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
Sent hither by your King's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, 
Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : 
"My manors, halls, and bowers, shall 

still 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will. 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my King's alone. 
From turret to foundation-stone, — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly grasp 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." — 



Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like 

fire. 
And shook his very frame for ire. 

And — " This to me ! " he said, — 
" And 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
He, who does England's message here. 
Although the meanest in her state, 
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate : 



MARMION. 



Aiif^, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 

Even in ihy pitch of pride. 
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
(Nay, never look upon your lord. 
And lay your hands upon your sword,) 

I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
To any lord in Scotland here. 
Lowland or Highland, far or near. 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " — 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — " And darest 

thou then 
To beard the lion in his den, 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to 

go? — 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
Up drawbridge, grooms, — what. War- 
der, ho ! 

Let the portcullis fall." — 
Lord Marmion turned, — well was his 

need. 
And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
Like arrow through the archwaysprung. 
The ponderous grate behind him rung ; 
To pass there was such scanty room. 
The bars, descending, razed his plume. 



The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Nor lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level bri.Ti : 
And when Lord Marmion reached his 

band. 
He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 
And shout of loud defiance pours, 
And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
" Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, 

"and chase ! " 
But soon he reined his fury's pace : 
"A royal messenger he came. 
Though most unworthy of the name. — 
A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! 
Did ever knight so foul a deed ! 
At first in heart it liked me ill, 
When the King praised his clerkly skill. 
Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 
Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : 
So swore \, and I swear it still. 
Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
Saint Mary mend my fiery mood I 



Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
I thought to slay him where he stood. 
'T is pity of him too," he cried : 
" Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 
I warrant him a warrior tried." 
With this his mandate he recalls. 
And slowly seeks his castle halls. 



The day in Marmion's journey wore ; 
Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, 
They crossed the heights of Stanrig- 

moor. 
His troop more closely there he scanned, 
And missed the Palmer from the band. — 
"Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 
" He parted at the peep of day ; 
Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 
" In what array.'' " said Marmion, quick. 
" My Lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
But all night long, with clink and bang, 
Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
At dawn the falling drawbridge rang, 
And from a loop-hole while I peep. 
Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 
Wrapped in a gown of sables fair, 
As fearful of the morning air ; 
Beneath, when that was blown aside, 
A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 
By Archibald won in bloody work, 
Against the Saracen and Turk : 
Last night it hung not in the hall ; 
I thought some marvel would befall. 
And next I saw them saddled lead 
Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best 

steed ; 
A matchless horse, though something 

old. 
Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 
I heard the Sheriff Sholto say, 
The Earl did much the Master pray 
To use him on the battle-day ; 
But he preferred " — " Nay, Henry, 

cease ! 
Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy 

peace. — 
Eustace, thou bearest a brain — I pray 
What did Blountsee at break of day? " — 



" In brief, my lord, we both descried 
(For then I stood by Henry's side) 
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride 



MARMION. 



Upon the Earls own favorite steed : 
All sheathed he was in armor bright, 
And much resembled that same knight 
Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : 

Lord Angus wished him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz- Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke : — 
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! " 
He muttered ; "'T was nor fay nor ghost 
I met upon the moonlight wold. 
But living man of earthly mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross ! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now ? — he told his tale 
To Douglas, and with some avail ; 

'T was therefore gloomed his rugged 
brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and 
vain ? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I 

shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the 

Nun — 
O, what a tangled web we weave. 
When first we practise to deceive ! 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
I might have known there was but one 
Whose look could quell Lord Mar- 
mion." 



Stung with these thoughts, he urged to 

speed 
His troop, and reached, at eve, the 

Tweed, 
Where Lennel's convent closed their 

march ; 
(There now is left but one frail arch. 

Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
Well worth the whole Bernardine brood. 
That e'er wore sandal, fi-ock, or hood.) 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
And lodging for his train and Clare. 
Next morn the Baron climbed the tower, 
To view afar the Scottish power, 



Encamped on Flodden edge : 
The white pavilions made a show, 
Like remnants of the winter snow. 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked : — at length his 

eye 
Unusual movement might descry 

Amid the shifting lines : 
The Scottish host drawn out appears. 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears 
^ The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now ex- 
tending : 
Their flank mclining, wheeling, bend- 
ing,. 
Now drawing back, and now descend- 

ijig, 
The skilful Marmion well could know. 
They watched the motions of some foe 
Who traversed on the plain below. 



Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave Barmore wood, their evening 

post. 
And heedful watched them as they 
crossed 
The Till by Twisel Bridge. 

High sight it is, and haughty, while 
They dive into the deep defile ; 
Beneath the caverned cliff they fall. 
Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree. 
Troop after troop are disappearing ; 
Troop after troop their banners rear- 
ing, 
Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pouring down the rocky den, 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim-wood glen. 
Standards on standards, men on men. 

In slow succession still, 
And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 

To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
And many a chief of birth and rank. 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 
Had then from many an axe its doom, 
T« give the marching columns room. 



MARMION. 



103 



And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow, 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggle? through the deep de- 
file? 
What checks the fiery soul of James? 
Why sits that champion of the dames 

Inactive on his steed. 
And sees, between him and his land, 
Between him and Tweed's southern 
strand, 
His host Lord Surrey lead ? 
What 'vails the vain knight-errant's 

brand ? — 
O, Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
Fierce Randolph, for thy speed ! 
O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight 
And cry, — " Saint Andrew and our 

right ! " 
Another sight had seen that morn, 
P>om Fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
And Flodden had been Bannock- 
bourne ! — 
The precious hour has passed in vain. 
And England's host has gained the 

plain ; 
Wheeling their march, and circling still 
Around the base of Flodden hill. 



Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 
" Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English 

drum ! 
And see ascending squadrons come 

Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what 

hap, 
My basnet to a prentice cap. 

Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! — 
Yet more ! yet more ! — how fair arrayed 
They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
Witli all their banners bravely spread, 

And all their armor flashing high, 
Saint George might waken from the 
dead 
To see fair England's standards fly." 
"Stint in thy prate," quoch Blount, 

" thou 'dst best, 
And Usten to our lord's behest" — 



With kindling brow Lord Marmion 

said, — 
" This instant be our band arrayed ; 
The river must be quickly crossed, 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust 
That fight he will, and fight he must, 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." 



Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
Far less would listen to his prayer. 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 
And muttered, as the flood they view : 
" The pheasant in the falcon's claw. 
He scarce will yield to please a daw ; 
Lord Angus may the Abbot awe, 

So Clare shall bide with me." 
Then on that dangerous ford, and deep, 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies 
creep, 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide, 
Till squire or groom before him ride ; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide, 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare upon her horse. 

Old Hubert led her rein, 
Stoutly they braved the current's course. 
And, though far downward driven per- 
force, 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them straggling came to shore, 

As best they might, the train : 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, — 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that every string. 
By wet unharmed, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion stayed, 
And breathed his steed, his men ar- 
rayed, 

Then forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 
He halted by a Cross of Stone, 
That, on a hillock standing lone. 

Did all the field command. 



Hence might they see the full array 
Of either host for deadly fray ; 



I04 



MARMION. 



Their marshalled lines stretched east 
and west, 

And fronted north and south, 
And distant salutation passed 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattle, 
That breathes the voice of modern bat- 
tle. 

But slow and far between. — 
The hillock gained. Lord Marmion 

stayed : 
"Here, by this Cross," he gently said, 
" You well may view the scene. 
Here shall thou tarry, lovely Clare : 

O, think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — 
Thou wilt not ? — well, — no less my 

care 
Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard. 

With ten picked archers of my train ; 
With England if the day go hard, 

To Berwick speed amain. — 
But if we conquer, cruel maid. 
My spoils shall at your feet be laid, 

When here we meet again." 
He waited not for answer there, 
And would not mark the maid's despair. 

Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire ; but spurred amain. 
And, dashing through the battle-plain. 

His way to Surrej took. 



"The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 

Welcome to danger's hour ! — 
Short greeting serves m time of strife : — 

Tluis have I ranged my power : 
Myself will rule this central host. 
Stout Stanley fronts their right. 
My sons command the vaward post. 
With Brian Tunstall,stainlessknight: 
Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light. 
Shall be in rearward of the fight. 
And succor those that need it most. 
Now, gallant Marmion, well I know. 
Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 
With thee their charge will blithely 

share ; 
There fight thine own retainers too, 
Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." — 
" Thanks, noble Surrey ! " Marmion 

said. 
Nor further greeting there he paid ; 



But, parting like a thunderbolt, 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
Of" Marmion ! Marmion ! " thatthecry, 
Up Flodden Mountain shrilling high, 

Startled the Scottish foes. 



Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill ; 
On which (for far the day was spent) 
The western sunbeams now were bent. 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Couldplain theirdistantcomradesview : 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
" Unworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But see ! look up — on Flodden bent 
The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 

And sudden, as he spoke, 
From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 
Announced their march ; their tread 

alone. 
At times one warning trumpet blown, 
At times a stifled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-throne 

King James did rushing come. — 
Scarce could they hear or see their foes. 

Until at weapon-point they close. — 
They close, in clouds of smoke and dust. 
With sword-sway, and with lance's 
thrust ; 

And such a yell was there, 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air ; 
O life and death were in the shout. 
Recoil and rally, charge and rout. 

And triumph and despair. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; their 

eye 
Could in the darkness naught descry. 

XXVI. 

At length the freshening western blast 
Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
Above the brightening cloud appears ; 



MARMION. 



los 



And in the smoke the pennons flew, 
As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
Then marked they, dashing broad and 

far, 
The broken billows of the war, 
And plumed crests of chieftains brave 
Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But naught distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falchions flashed 

amain ; 
Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly : 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
Still bear them bravely in the fight ; 

Although against them come 
Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, 
And many a rugged Border clan. 

With Huntly, and with Home. 



Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle ; 
Though there the western mountaineer 
Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, 
And flung the feeble targe aside. 
And with both hands the broadsword 

plied, 
'T was vain : — But Fortune, on the 

right, 
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's 

fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white, 

The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 

Around the battle-yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 
Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, 
now high, 

The pennon sunk and rose ; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and 
sail. 

It wavered 'mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear : 
" By heaven and all its saints ! I swear, 



I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz- Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and patter pray- 
er, — 

I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
Followed by all the archer train. 
The fiery youth, with desperate charge. 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around. 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground, 

It sunk among the fees. 
Then Eustace mounted too : — yet 

stayed, 
As loath to leave the helpless maid, 

When, fast as shaft can fly, 
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread, 
The loose rein dangling from his head. 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 

A look and sign to Clara cast. 

To mark he would return in haste, 
Then plunged into the fight. 



Ask me not what the maiden feels, 
Left in that dreadful hour alone : 
Perchance her reason stoops or reels ; 
Perchance a courage, not her own, 
Braces her mind to desperate tone. — ■ 
The scattered vanof England wheels : — 
She only said, as loud in air 
The tumult roared, " Is Wilton 

there ? " — 
They fly, or, maddened bv despair, 
Fight but to die, — " Is Wilton there ? " 
With that, straight up the hill there rode 

Two horsemen drenched with gore, 
And in their arms, a helpless load, 

A wounded knight they bore. 
His hand still strained the broken brand : 
His arms were smeared with blood and 

sand. 
Dragged from among fhe horses' feet, 
With dinted shield, and helmet beat, 
I'he falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
Can that be haught' Marmion 1 . . . . 
Young Blount his ar nor did unlace, 
And, .gazing on his ghastly face. 

Said — By Saint George, he 's gone ! 
That spear -wound l>as our master 
sped, — 



io6 



MAR Ml ON. 



And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion." — 
*' Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling 

cease : 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; 

"peace!" 

XXIX. 

When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
*• Where 's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace 

where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue ! ' — 

Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
Thatshout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
Yet my last thought is England's — fly. 
To Dacre bear my signet ring : 
Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
, Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie ; 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field. 
His life-blood stains the spotless 

shield : 
Edmund is down : — my life is reft ; 
The Admiral alone is laft. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host, 
Or victory and England 's lost. — 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! 

fly ! _ 

Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
They parted, and alone he lay ; 
Clare drew her from the sight away. 
Till pain rung forth a lowly moan. 
And half he murmured, — "Is there 
none, 
Of all my halls have nurst, 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from the spring, 
To slake my dying thirst ! " 



O woman ! in our hours of ease. 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
And variable as the shade 
By the light quivering aspen made ; 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou ! — 
Scarce were the piteous accents said. 
When, with the Baron's casque, the 
maid 



To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears, 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's side, 

But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side, 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn ! — behold hei 
mark 

A little fountain cell, 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark, 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 
Orink.torarg. pilgrim. lirtnfe.anli.prag. 
Jfor.thr.binS.Boul.af.Srjbtl.ffifrap. 

CiJEba. built. tilts, cross'.antj.'tMciL 
She filled the helm, and back she hied. 
And with surprise and joy espied 

A Monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrive the dying, bless the dead. 



Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, 
And, as she stooped his brow to lave, — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
" Or injured Constance, bathes my 
head?" 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to 

spare ; 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! " — 

" Alas I " she said, " the while, — 
O, think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She — died at Holy Isle." — 
Lord Marmion started from the ground, 
As light as if he felt no wound : 
Though in the action burst the tide. 
In torrents, from his wounded side. 
'•Then it was truth," he said — "I 

knew 
That the dark presage must be true. —^ 
I would the Fiend, to wliom belongs 
The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 

Would spare me but a day ! 
For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
And priests slain on the altar stone. 

Might bribe him for delay. 



MA RMION. 



107 



It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 
And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, 
Supported by the trembling Monk. 



With fruitless labor, Clara bound. 
And strove to stanch the gushing 

wound : 
The Monk, with unavailing cares. 
Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
A lady's voice was in his ear, 
And that the priest he could not hear 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle, borne down by the 

V^here muigles war s rattle with 
groans of the dying I " 

So the notes rung ; — 
* Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel 

hand 
jhake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
O, look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

O, think on faith and bliss ! — 
By many a death-bed I have been. 
And many a sinner's parting seen, 

But never aught like this." — _ 
I'he war, that for a space did fail. 
Now trebly thundering swelled the 
gale. 

And — Stanley ! was the cry, — 
•n. light on Marm ion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 
With dying hand, above his head. 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted " Victory ! — 
Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, 

on ! " 
Were the last words of Marmion. 



By this, though deep the evening fell. 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell, 
For still the Scots, around their King, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where 's now their victor vaward wing. 

Where Huntly, and where Home ! — 
Ofor a blast of that dread horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne. 

That to King Charles did come. 



When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 

And every paladin and peer. 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blast might warn them, not in 

vain. 
To quit the plunder of the slain. 
And turn the doubtful day again, 

While yet on Flodden side. 
Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away. 
While spoil and havoc mark their way. 
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. 
" O Lady," cried the Monk, " away !" 

And placed her on her steed, 
And led her to the chapel fair 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer, 
And, at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 



But as they left the darkening heath, 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The English shafts in volleys hailed. 
In headlongcharge their horse assailed; 
Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons 

sweep 
To break the Scottish circle deep. 

That fought around their King. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 
Though charging knights like whirl- 
winds go. 
Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow. 

Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spear-men still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepping where his comrade stood. 

The instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight. 
Groom fought like noble, squire like 
knight. 

As fearlessly and well ; 
Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded King. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered 

bands ; 
And from the charge they drew. 
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen know ; 



xo8 



MARMION. 



Their King, their Lords, their mighti- 
est low, 
They melted from the field as snow, 
When streams are swollen and south 
winds blow. 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless 
plash. 

While many a broken band. 
Disordered, through her currents dash. 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to down and dale, 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song, 
Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear. 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's 

spear. 
And broken was her shield ! 



Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride. 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a 

one : 
The sad survivors all are gone — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle high 
Look northward with tipbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
That, journeying far on foreign strand. 
The Royal Pilgrim to his land 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck hisrashness wrought. 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clenched within his manly hand, 
Beseemed the Monarch slain. 
But, O ! how changed since yon blithe 

night ! — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight. 

Unto my tale again. 



Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 
A pierced and mangled body bare 
To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 
And there, beneath the southern aisle. 



V 



A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair, 
Did long Lord Marmion's image bear, 
(Now vainly for its sight you look ; 
'T was levelled, when fanatic Brook 
The fair cathedral stormed and took ; 
But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint 

Chad ! 
A guerdon meet the spoiler had !) 
There erst was martial Marmion found, 
His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His hands to heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fair. 
And priest for Marmion breathed the 

prayer. 
The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain 
Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 
One of those flowers, whom plamtive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede away : " 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
And dragged him to its foot, and died, 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the 

slain. 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb. 
The lowly woodsman took the room. 



Less easy task it were, to show 
Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and 
low. 

They dug his grave e'en where he lay, 
But every mark is gone ; 

Time's wasting hand has done away 

The simple Cross of Sybil Gray, 

And broke her font of stone ; 
But yet out from the little hill 
Oozes the slender springlet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there. 
For thence may best his curious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush. 
And rest them by the hazel bush. 

And plait their garlands fair ; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave 
That holds the bones of Marmion 

brave. — 
When thou shalt find the little hill. 
With thy heart commune, and be still. 



MA RMION. 



109 



If ever, in temptation strong, 

Thou lett'st the right path for the 

wrong ; 
If every devious step, thus trod, 
Still led thee farther from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomb : 
But say, " He died a gallant knight, 
With sword in hand, for England's 

right." 



I do not rhyme to that dull elf 
Who cannot image to himself, 
That, all through Flodden's dismal 

night, 
Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 
That, when brave Surrey's steed was 

slain, 
'T was Wilton mounted him again ; 
'T was Wilton's brand that deepest 

hewed, 
Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 
Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall, 
He was the living soul of all ; 
That, after fight, his faith made plain. 
He won his rank and lands again ; 
And charged his old paternal shield 
With bearings won on Flodden Field. 
Nor sing I to that simple maid, 
To whom it must in terms be said. 
That King and kinsmen did agree 
To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 
Who cannot, unless I relate. 
Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 
That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 
More, Sands, and Denny, passed the 

joke : 



That Bluff King Hnl the curtain drew, 
And Catherine's hand tlie stocking 

threw ; 
And afterwards, for many a day. 
That it was held enough to say. 
In blessing to a wedded pair, 
" Love they like Wilton and like 

Clare 1 " 



L' ENVOI. 



TO THE READER. 



Why then a final note prolong. 
Or lengthen out a closing song. 
Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
Who long have listed to my rede? 
To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 
To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 
Sound head, clean hand, and piercing 

wit. 
And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 
A garland for the hero's crest. 
And twined by her he loves the best ; 
To every lovely lady bright, 
What can I wish but faithful knight? 
To every faithful lover, too, 
What can I wish but lady true ? 
And knowledge to the studious sage ? 
And pillow to the head of age? 
To thee, dear school-boy, whom my 

lay 
Has cheated of thy hour of play. 
Light task, and merry holiday ! 
To all, to each, a fair good night. 
And pleasing dreams, and slumbers 

light ! 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



ARGUMENT. 



The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, 
in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days, 
and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto, ' . c n "" I 



jf 5 Ov^ANTO FIRST. '^ - ■ . , u/^ft,t.«^ ^luA^h 



Harp of the North !' that mouldering long hast hung 
On the witch-elmHhat shades Saint Fillan's spring, . 

T^ Jl And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, •%^'-* (-<-1 » W*"VvVtV 

■v^ ytr^^^-X-^M. Till envious ivy did around thee cling, I v 

^.t,*.**'^-*! |pC»<]^uffling''witirverdant ringlet every string, — 
V » O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? 

r rVi^.'^'V I 'Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. 

Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep. 
Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 

Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, V- 

Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd. 
When lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 

Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud. 
At each according pause was heard aloud 

Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 
Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bowed ; 

For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless eye. 

O, wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 
That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray; 
O, wake once mote ! though scarce my skill command 

Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away. 

And all unworthy of thy nobler strain, 
Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway. 

The wizard note has not been touched in vain._ 
Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again I " f ■ 

i I ■) >^ ' 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy 

bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint, from farther distance bome^ n, 

1^ 



A-K-^- 



The stag at eve had drunk his fill. 
Where danced the moon on Monan's^ 

rill. 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 



■ S «^-alv.,wvc•^l«L^ q -S ., ■"" ' .JT 



'wv«^jtt^'|^ 



Were heard the clanging hpof and homJ 






S "^4, Ci fL^ 



9 t^ 
t^y o-t-e^-) -ti- 
ll. 

As Chief, who hears hir. warder call, 
"To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," 
The an tiered monarch of the waste' . .< 
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
But, ere his fleet career he took. 
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
^Like crested leader proud and high 

I yiTossed his beamed frontlet to the sky ; 
*A moment gazed adown the dale, r', ^ , 

''- A moment snuffed the tajnted gale, ' ■ 
A moment listened to the cry, 
^I'hat thickened as the chase drew nigh ; 
Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 
With one brave bound the copse he 

cleared, • _ . 

And, stretching forward free and far, 
jSought the wild heaths of J Jam - Var. i 

Yelled on the view the openingpack ; 
Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; 
To many a mingled sound at once 
The awakened mountain gave response. 
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
Clattered a hundred steeds along, 
Their peal the merry horns rung out, 
A hundred voices joined the shout; 
With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
Far from the tumult fled the roe, 
, Close in her covert cowered the doe, 
^he falcon, from her cairn on high. 
Cast on the rout a wondering eye, ■ 
Till far beyond her piercing ken ■ V 
The hurricane had swept the glen. ^ 



Faint, and more faint, its failing din 

Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn.J-x-;; Alone, but with unbated zeal 

And silence. settled, wide and still, Tl,o^ u^^^^^^ 1;^^ tu^ o^. 

On the lone wood and mighty hill, 



IV. 

Less loud the sounds of sj'lvan war 
Disturbed the heights of Uam-Var, 
And roused the cavern, where, 't is told, 
A giant made his den of old ; 
For ere that steep ascent was won, 
High in his pathway hung the sun. 
And many a gallant, stayed perforce. 
Was fain to breathe his faltering hor^e. 
And of the trackers of the deer. 
Scarce half the lessening pack was near; 
So sixfewdly on the mountain-side 
Hadtheljold burst their mettle ..ned. 



V. 



ry^^-Jc^^^SUt 



t^ 



The noble stag was pausing now 

Upon the mountain's southern brow, 

Where broad extended, far beneath, 

The varied realms of fair Menteith.'Pi.crta^jjj.^ 

With anxious eye he wandered o'er >itC''-V.tJ 

Mountain and meadow, moss and moor, 

And pondered refuge from his toil. 

By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 

But nearer was the copsewood gray 

That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, -• 

And mingled with the pine-trees blue ' 

On the bold cliffs of Benvenue. 

Fresh vigor with the hope returned, 

With flying foot the heath lie spurned. 

Held westward with unwearied race, 

And left behind the panting chase. 



'T were long to tell what steeds gave 

o'er. 
As swept the hiint through Cambus- 

more ; ^ .> ' ■ 
What reins were tightened in despair, 
When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
Who flagged upon Bochastle's heath 
Who shunned to stem the flooded 

Teith, — 
For twice that day, from shore to shore. 
The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
Few were the stragglers, folloning far. 
That reached the lake of Vennachar ; 
And when the Brigg of Turk was won. 
The headmost horseman rede alone. 

VII. y 



a 



That horseman plied the scourge and 

steel ; V [i 
For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
Er nbos sed with foam, and dark with „ 

"^soil, %ii,.s4/vaA:;(^ U3J; 

While every gasp with sobs he drew, ^ 
The laboring stag strained full in view. 
Two dogsof black Saint Hubert'sbreed, 
Unmatched for courage, breath, and 

speed, 
Fast on his flying traces came, 
And all but won that desperate game ; 
For, scarce a spear's length from his 

haunch. 
Vindictive toiled the bloodhounds 

stanch ; 



Nor nearer might the dogs attain, 
Nor farther might the quarry strain. O^ 
Thus up the margin of fHFTake, 
Between the precipice and brake, 
O'er stock and rock their race thev 
take, ii _ V ■ 



I'he Hunter marked that mountain 
high, ': • , 

The lone lake's western boundary, 
And deemed the stag must turn to bay. 
Where that huge rampart barred the 

way ; 
Already glorying in the prize, 
ISIeasured his antlers with his eyes ; 
For the death-wound and death-halloo 
Mustered his breath, his whin^ard 



T//E LADY OF THE LA Km. 



Then through the dell his horn re- 
sounds. 
From vain pursuit to call the hounds. 
Back limped, with slow and crippled 

The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
Close to their master'sside they pressed, 
With droopmg tail and humbled crest ; 
But still the dingle's hollow throat 
-Prolonged the swelling bugle-note 
The owlets started from their dream, 
1 he eagles answered with their scream. 
Round and around the sounds were cast, 
Till echo seemed an answering bl^st ; 
And on the Hunter hied his way, r. a , r^ 
To join some comrades of the day • ' ^ 



ard ' -tj ■> ■5>-""c Luiiiidues oi ine aay ; 
drew : — (^\,..>: ' ' >''' ^v, , ^ »^*t often paused, so strange the road. 

But thundering as he came prepared, ' ^° wondrous were the scenes it showec 
With ready arm and weapon bared, 
The wily quarry shunned the shock, 
And turned him from the 



trom the opposing 

rock ; 
Then, dashing down a darksome glen, 
Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken. 
In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
His solitary refuge took. 
There, while close couched, the thicket 

shed 
Cold dews and wild flowers on his head, 
He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
Rave through the hollow pass arjj,aui, v-j 
Chiding the, rocks that yelled again. 



Close on the hounds the Hunter came. 
To cheer them on the vanished game ; 
But, stumbling in the rugged dell, 
The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
The impatient rider strove in vain 
To rouse him with the spur and rein, 
For the good steed, his labors o'er. 
Stretched his stiff limbs, to rise no 

more ; 
Then, touched with pity and remorse, 
He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse. 
" I little thought, when first thy rein 
I slacked upon the banks of Seine, 
That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed ! 
Woe worth the chase, woe worth the 

day,*^ I ' ■ ' . \ , ^ »'■'•,. 

That costs thy life, m^ galfan'l gi^l " 



V..J, ...v., ...J gnuaiii^irty i I CmiQ. 



The western waves of ebbing day 
Rolled o'er the glen their level vyay ; 
Each purple peak, each flinty spire, ' 
Was bathed in floods of living fire. 
But not a setting beam could glow 
Within the dark ravines below, 
Where twined the path in shadow hid, 
Round many a rocky pyramid. 
Shooting abruptly from" the dell 
Its thunder-splintered pinnacle; 
. i^°""*^ ^^^y ^" insulated mass, , .^ ; < , c« 
'■ T'he native bulwarks of the pass. 
Huge as the tower which builders vain 
Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. \ 
The rocky summits, split and rent, — 
Formed turret, dome, or battlement, 
Or seemed fantastically set 
With cupola or minaret, 
Wild crests as pagod ever decked, 
Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
Nor were these earth-born castles bare, 
Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; 
For, from theirshiveredbrowsdisplayed, 
Far o'er the unfathomable glade, Ui^u\ 
All twinkhngwith the dew-drops sheert, ^ 
The brier-rose fell in streamers greeii. 
And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes. 
Waved in the west-wind'ssummersighs. 

'V-i.*^ XII. 

Boon nature scattered, free and wild. 
Each plant or flower, the mountain's 
child. 



-y' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



"3 



Here eglantine embalmed the air, 
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 
The primjose pale and violet flower 
Found in each cliff a narrow bower ; 
Foxglove and nightshade, side bv side, 
Emblems of punishment and pride. 
Grouped their darkhues with every stain 
The weather-beaten crags retain. 
Withboughs that quakedat every breath, 
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath ; 
Aloft, die ash and warrior oak 
Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, 
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, 
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. 
Highest of all, where white peaks 

glanced. 
Where glist'ning streamers waved and 

danced. 
The wanderer's eye could barely view 
The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
The scenery of a fairy dream. 



Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
A narrow inlet, still and deep. 
Affording scarce such breadth of brim 
As served the wild duck's brood to 

swim. 
Lost for a space, through thickets veer- 
ing, 
But broader when a^ain appearing. 
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face 
Could on the dark-blue mirror trnce ; 
And farther as the Hunter strayed. 
Still broader sweep its channels made. 
The shaggy mounds no longer stood, 
Emerging from entangled wood. 
But, wave-encircled, seemed to float. 
Like castle girdled with its moat ; 
Yet broader floods extending still 
Divide them from their parent hill. 
Till each, retiring, claims to be 
An islet in an inland sea. 



And now, to issue from the glen. 

No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. 

Unless he climb, with footing nice, 

A far-projecting precipice. 

The broom's tough roots his ladder made, 

The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 



^ 



«f. 



And thus an airy point he won. 
Where, gleaming with the setting sun, 
One burnished sheet of living gold. 
Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled. 
In all her length far winding lay. 
With promontory, creek, and bay, 
And islands that, empurpled bright, • 
Floated amid the livelier light,~" 
And mountains, that like giants stand, 
To sentinel enchanted land. 
High on the south, huge Benvenue 
Down on the lake in masses threw 
Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly 

hurled. 
The fragments of an earlier world ; 
A wildering forest feathered o'er 
His ruined sides and summit hoar. 
While on the north, through middle air, 
Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 

■'[''■ XV. 
From the steep promontory gazed 
The stranger, raptured and amazed. 
And, "What a scene were here," he 

cried, 
" For princely pomp or churchman's 

pride ! 
On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 
In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 
On yonder meadow, far away. 
The turrets of a cloister gray ; 
How blithely might the bugle-horn 
Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn ! 
How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 
Chime, when the groves were still and 

mute ! 
And, when the midnight moon should 

lave 
Her forehead in the silver wave. 
How solemn on the ear would come 
The holy matins' distant hum, - , . 
While the deep peal's commanding tone 
Should wake, in yonder islet lone, :. 
A sainted hermit from his cell. 
To drop a bead with every knell, — 
And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 
Should each bewildered stranger call 
To friendly feast and lighted hall. 



" Blithe were it then to wander here ! 
But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, 
Like that same hermit's, thin and spare, 
The copse must give my evening fare ; 






114 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
Some rustling oak my canopy. 
Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 
Give httle choice of resting-place ; — 
A summer night, in greenwood spent. 
Were but to-morrow's merriment : 
But hosts may in these wilds abound, 
Such as are better missed than found ; 
To meet with Highland plunderers here 
Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — 
I am alone ; — my bugle-strain 
May call some straggler of the train ; 
Or, fall the worse that may betide. 
Ere now this falchion has been tried." 



But scarce again his horn he wound, 
When lo ! forth starting at the sound. 
From underneath an aged oak 
That slanted from the islet rock, 
A damsel guider of its way, 
A little skiff shot to the bay. 
That round the promontory steep 
Led its deep line in graceful sweep. 
Eddying, in almost viewless wave. 
The weeping willow twig to lave. 
And kiss, with whispering sound and 

slow. 
The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 
The boat had touched this silver strand 
Just as the Himter left his stand. 
And stood concealed amid the brake. 
To view this Lady of the Lake. 
The maiden paused, as if again 
She thought to catch the distant strain. 
With head upraised, and look intent. 
And eye and ear attentive bent. 
And locks flung back, and lips apart. 
Like monument of Grecian art, 
In listening mood, she seemed to stand, 
The guardian Naiad of the strand. 



And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
Of finer form or lovelier face ! 
What though the sun, with ardent 

frown. 
Had slightly tinged her cheek with 

brown, — 
The sportive toil, which, short and light, 
Had dyed her glowing hue so bright. 
Served too in hastier swell to show 
Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 



What though no rule of courtly grace 
To measured mood had trained her 

pace, — 
A foot more light, a step more true, 
Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the 

dew ; 
E'en the slight harebell raised its head, 
Elastic from her airy tread : 
What though upon her speech there 

hung 
The accents of the mountain tongue, — 
Those silver sounds, so soft, so clear. 
The list'ner held his brea,;;h to hear ! 

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid ; 
Her satin snood, her silken plaid. 
Her goldenBrooch, such birth betrayed. 
And seldom was a snood amid 
Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid. 
Whose glossy black to shame might 

bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing ; 
And seldom o'er a breast so fair. 
Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
Her kindness and her worth to spy. 
You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast ; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh. 
Or filial love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
Or tale of injur>' called forth 
The indignant spirit of the North. 
One only passion unrevealed 
With maiden pride the maid concealed. 
Yet not less purely felt the flame ; — 
O, need I tell that passion's name ? 



Impatient of the silent horn, 
Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 
" Father ! " she cried ; the rocks around 
Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
Awhile she paused, no answer came, — 
" Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the 

name 
Less resolutely uttered fell. 
The echoes could not catch the swelL 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



"5 



" A stranger I," the Huntsman said, 
Advancing from the hazel shade. 
The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar, 
Pushed her light shallop from the shore, 
And, when a space was gained between, 
Closer she drew her bosom's screen ; 
(So forth the startled swan would swing, 
So turn to prune his rufded wing.) 
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 
She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
That youthful maidens wont to tly. 



On his bold visage middle age 

Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 

Yet had not quenched the open truih 

And fiery vehemence of youth ; 

Forward and frolic glee was there, 

The will to do, the soul to dare, 

'I'he sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 

Of hasty love or headlong ire. 

His limbs were cast in manly mould 

For hardy sports or contest bold ; 

And though in peaceful garb arrayed, 

And weaponless, except his blade, 

His stately mien as well implied 

A high-born heart, a martial pride, 

As if a Baron's crest he wore. 

And sheathed in armor trode the shore. 

Slighting the petty need he showed, 

He told of his benighted road ; 

His ready speech flowed fair and free, 

In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 

Yet seemed that tone and gesture bland 

Less used to sue than to command. 



Awhile the maid the stranger eyed, 
And, reassured, at length replied, 
Tiiat Highland halls were open still 
To wildered wanderers of the hill. 
" Nor think you unexpected come 
To yon lone isle, our desert home ; 
Before the heath had lost the dew, 
This morn, a, couch was pulled for you ; 
On yonder mountain's purple head 
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 
Andour broad nets have swept the mere, 
To furnish forth your evening cheer. " — 
" Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, 
Your courtesy has erred," he said ; 
" No right have I to claim, misplaced, 
TliQ welcome of expected guest. 



A wanderer, here by fortune tost, 
My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
I found a fay in fairy-land ! " 

XXIII. 

" I well believe," the maid replied. 
As her light skiff approached the side,-^ 
" I well believe, that ne'er before 
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's 

shore ; 
But yet, as far as yesternight, 
Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, — 
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent / 
Was on the visioned future bent. 
He saw your steed, a dappled gray. 
Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 
Painted exact your form and mien, 
Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green. 
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt, 
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt. 
That cap with heron plumage trim. 
And yon two hounds so dark and grim. 
He bafle that all should ready be 
To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
But light I held his prophecy, 
And deemed it was my father's horn. 
Whose echoes o'er the lake were 

borne." 

XXIV. 

The stranger smiled : — " Since to your 

home 
A destined errant-knight I come, 
Announced by prophet sooth and old. 
Doomed, doubtless, for achievement 

bold, ,' 
I '11 lightly front each high emprise 
For one kind glance of those bright 

eyes. 
Permit me, first, the task to guide 
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." 
The maid, with smile suppressed £nd sly. 
The toil unwonted saw him try ; 
For seldom sure, if e'er before. 
His noble hand had grasped an oar : 
Yet with main strength his strokes he 

drew, 
And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 
With heads erect, and whimpering cry. 
The hounds behind their passage ply. 
Nor frequent does the bright oar break 
The darkening mirror of the lake. 



rf »- 



ii6 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Until the rocky isle they reach, 
And moor their shallop on the beach. 



The stranger viewed the shore around ; 
'T was all so close with copsewood 

bound, 
Nor track nor pathway might declare 
That human foot frequented there, 
Until the mountain maiden showed 
A clambering unsuspected road, 
Thatwinded through the tangled screen. 
And opened on a narrow green, 
Where weeping birch and willow round 
With their long fibres swept the ground. 
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, 
Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 



It was a lodge of ample size, 

But strange of structure and device ; 

Of such materials, as around 

The workman'shand had readiestfound. 

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar 

trunks bared, , 

And by the hatchet rudely squared, 
To give the walls their destined height, 
The sturdy oak and ash unite ; 
While moss and clay and leaves com- 
bined 
To fence each crevice from the wind. 
The lighter pine-trees, overhead, 
Their slender length for rafters spread. 
And withered heath and rushes dry 
Supplied a russet canopy. 
Due westward, fronting to the green, 
A rural portico was seen, 
Aloft on native pillars borne. 
Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, 
Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine 
The ivy and Idjean vine, 
The clematis, the favored flower 
Which boasts the name of virgin bower, 
And every hardy plant could.bear 
Loch Katrine's keen and'searchingair. 
An instant in this porch slie stayed. 
And gayly to the stranger said : 
" On heaven and on thy lady call, 
And enter the enchanted hall ! " 



" My hope, my heaven, my trust must 

be. 
My gentle guide, in following thee ! " — 



He crossed the threshold, — and a clang 
Of angry steel that instant rang. 
To his bold brow his spirit rushed, 
But soon for vain alarm he blushed. 
When on the floor he saw displayed. 
Cause of the din, a naked blade 
Dropped from the sheath, that careless 

flung 
Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 
For all around, the walls to grace. 
Hung trophies of the fight or chase : 
A target there, a bugle here, k^.- ,^ ■ . 
A battle-axe, a hunting-spear, ' " ' <■ 
And broadswords, bows, and arrows 

store. 
With the tusked trophies of the boar. 
Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
And there the wild-cat's brindled hide 
The frontlet of the elk adorns, 
Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 
Pennons and flags defaced and stained, 
That blackening streaks of blood re- 
tained, 
Anddeer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, 
With otter's fur and seal's unite. 
In rude and uncouth tapestry all. 
To garnish forth the sylvan hall. 



The wondering stranger round him 

gazed. 
And next the fallen weapon raised : — 
Few were the arms whose sinewy 

strength 
Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. 
And as the brand he poised and swayed, 
" I never knew but one," he said, 
" Whose stalwart arm might brook to 

wield 'I ' , ■, < 

A blade like this in battle-field." 
She sighed, then smiled and took the 

word ; 
" You see the guardian champion's 

sword : 
As light it trembles in his hand 
As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 
My sire's tall form might grace fhe part 
Of Ferragus or Ascabart ;i 
But in the absent giant's hold 
Are women now, and menials old." 



The mistress of the mansion came. 
Mature of age, a graceful dame; 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



117 



Whose easy step and stately port 
Had well become a princely court, 
{, To whom, though more than kindred 

knew, . ' 
Young Ellen gave a mother's due. P.(Ktl 
Meet welcome to her guest she made,^;, 
And every courteous rite was paidtVvt*^,tT 
That hospitality could claim. 
Though all unasked his birth and name. \ 
Such then the reverence to a guest, • 
That fellest foe might join the feast, h^fj,. 
And from his deadliest foeman's door ^' 
Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er. 
At length his rank the stranger names, 
" The Knight of SHawcbuq, James 

/ -F^itz- James ; v."" ■ 
Lord of a barren heritage. 
Which his brave sires, from age to 

age, 
By their good swords had held with 

toil ; 
His sire had fall'n in such turmoil, 
And he, God wot, was forced to stand 
Oft for his right with blade in hand. 
This morning with Lord Moray's train 
He chased a stalwart stag in vain. 
Outstripped his comrades, missed the 

deer. 
Lost his good steed, and wandered 

here." 



Fain would the Knight in turn require 
The name and state of Ellen's sire. 
Well showed the elder lady's mien 
That courts and cities she had seen ; 
Ellen, though more her looks displayed 
The simple grace of sylvan maid. 
In speech and gesture, form and face, 
Showed she was come of gentle race. 
'T were strange in ruder rank to find 
Such looks, such manners, and such 

mind. 
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun 

gave. 
Dame Margaret heard with silence 

grave ; 
Or Ellen, innocently gay. 
Turned all inquiry light away : — 
" Weird women we ! by dale and down 
We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
We stem the flood, we ride the blast. 
On wandering knights our spells we 

cast ; 

/~ 

% . 



While viewless minstrels touch the 

string, 
'T is thus our charmed rhymes we sing." 
She sung, and still a harp unseen 
Filled up the symphony between. 

SONG. V 
" Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, ^*^ 

Sleep the sleep that knows not break' 
. '. ing : 
Dream of battled fields no more. 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle's enchanted hall. 

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall, 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more : 
Sleep the sleep that knows not break- 

Mom of toil, nor night of waking. 

" No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 
Armor's clang, or war-steed champ- 
ing, .- . • 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 
Mustering clan, or squadron tramp- 
ing. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come /; 

At the daybreak from the fallow, L-vCClci. 
And the tjittern sound his drum, -^«4.-i,s- 

Boominglrom the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near, 
Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here 's no war-steed's neigh and 

champing. 
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 

XXXII. 

She paused, — then, blushing, led the 

lay 
To grace the stranger of the day. 
Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
The cadence of the flowing song, 
Till to her lips in measured fratne 
The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

" Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done. 

While our slumberous spells assail ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun. 

Bugles here shall sound reveille. ■ 

•i,rr .^ ^ 1 



ii8 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest ; thy chase is done, 
Think not of the rising sun, 
For at dawning to assail ye, 
Here no bugles sound reveille." 



The hall was cleared, — the stranger's 

bed 
Was there of mountain heather spread, 
Where oft a hundred guests had lain, 
And dreamed their forest sports again. 
But vainly did the heath-flower shed 
Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest 
The fever of his troubled breast. 
In broken dreams the image rose 
Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 
His steed now flounders in the brake, 
Now sinks his barge upon the lake ; 
Now leader of a broken host. 
His standard falls, his honor 's lost. 
Then, — from my couch may heavenly 

might 
Chase that worst phantom of the 

night ! — 
Again returned the scenes of youth. 
Of confident, undoubting truth ; 
Again his soul he interchanged 
With friends whose hearts were long 

estranged. 
They come, in dim procession led, 
The cold, the faithless, and the dead : 
As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 
As if they parted yesterday. 
And doubt distracts him at the view, — 
O, were his senses false or true ? 
Dreamed he of death or broken vow, 
Or is it all a vision now.'' 



. At length, with Ellen in a grove 
He seemed to walk, and speak of love ; 
She listened with a blush and sigh, 
His suit was warm, his hopes were 

high. 
He sought her yielded hand to clasp. 
And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 
The phantom's sex was changed and 

gone. 
Upon its head a helmet shone ; 



Slowly enlarged to giant's size, 

With darkened cheek and threatening 

eyes. 
The grisly visage, stem and hoar. 
To Ellen still a likeness bore. — 
He woke, and, panting with affright. 
Recalled the vision of the night. 
The hearth's decaying brands were 

red, 
And deep and dusky lustre shed, 
Half showing, half concealing, all 
The uncouth trophies of the hall. 
'Mid those the stranger fixed his eye 
Where that huge falchion hung on high. 
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless 

throng, 
Rushed, chasing countless thoughts 

along. 
Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 
He rose, and sought the moonshine 

pure. 



The wild rose, eglantine, and broom 
Wasted around their rich perfume ; 
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm ; 
The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 
The silver light, with quivering glance. 
Played on the water's still expanse, — 
Wild were the heart whose passions' 

sway 
Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 
He felt its calm, that warrior guest. 
While thus he communed with his 

breast : — 
" Why is it, at each turn I trace 
Some memory of that exiled race ? 
Can I not mountain maiden spy ; 
But she must bear the Douglas eye ? 
Can I not view a Highland brand. 
But it must match the Douglas hand? 
Can I not frame a fevered dream. 
But still the Douglas is the theme ? 
I 'U dream_ no more, — by manly mind 
Not even in sleep is will resigned. 
My midnight orisons said o'er, 
I '11 turn to rest, and dream no more." 
His midnight orisons he told, 
A prayer with every bead of gold, 
Consigned to heaven his cares an& 

woes. 
And sunk in undisturbed repose ; 
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew. 
And morning dawned on Benvenue. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



119 



CANTO SECOND. 



THE ISLAND. 



At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing, 

'T is morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay. 
All Nature's children feel the matin spring 

Of life reviving, with reviving day ; 
And while yon little bark glides down the bay, 

Wafting the stranger on his way again, 
Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray,* 

And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, 
Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane ! 



" Not faster yonder rowers' might 
Flings from their oars the spray, 

Not faster yonder rippling bright. 

That tracks the shallop's course in light, 
Melts in the lake away, 

Than men from memory erase 

The benefits of former days ; 

Then, stranger, go ! good speed the 
while. 

Nor think again of the lonely isle. 

" High place to thee in royal court, 

High place in battle line. 
Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport. 
Where beauty sees the brave resort. 

The honored meed be thine ! 
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear, 
And lost in love and friendship's smile 
Be memory of the lonely isle. 



SONG CONTINUED. 

" But if beneath yon southern sky 

A plaided stranger roam, 
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 
And sunken cheek and heavy eye. 

Pine for his Highland home ; 
Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ; 
Remember then thy hap erewhile, 
A stranger in the lonely isle. 

'.' Or if on life's uncertain main 

Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. 
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 

Beneath the fickle gale ; 



Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, 

On thankless courts, or friends es- 
tranged, 

But come where kindred worth shall 
smile. 

To greet thee in the lonely isle." 



As died the sounds upon the tide, 
The shallop reached the main-land side. 
And ere his onward way he took. 
The stranger cast a lingering look. 
Where easily his eye might reach 
The Harper on the islet beach, 
Reclined against a blighted tree, 
As wasted, gray, and worn as he. 
To minstrel meditation given, 
Hisreverend brow was raised to heaven. 
As from the rising sun to claim 
A sparkle of inspiring flame. 
His hand, reclined upon the wire, 
Seemed watching the awakening fire ; 
So still he sat, as those who wait 
Till judgment speak the doom of fate ; 
So still, as if no breeze might dare 
To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 
So still, as life itself were fled, 
In the last sound his harp had sped. 



Upon a rock with lichens wild. 
Beside him Ellen sat and smiled. — 
Smiled she to see the stately drake 
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, ■ 
While hervexed spaniel, from the beach, 
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach ? 
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, 
Why deepened on her cheek the rose? — 
Forgive, forgive. Fidelity _! 
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



^» ^C4^ 



Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, 
And stop and turn to wave anew ; 
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 
Show me the fair would scorn to spj', 
And prize such conquest of her eye ! 



While yet he loitered on the spot, 
It seemed as Ellen marked him not ; 
But when he turned him to the glade, 
One courteous parting sign she made ; 
And after, oft the knight would say, 
I'liat not when prize of festal day 
Was dealt him by the brightest fair 
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
So highly did his bosom swell, 
As at that simple mute farewell. 
Now with a trusty mountain-guide, 
And his dark stag-hounds by his side, 
He parts, — the maid, unconscious still. 
Watched him wind slowly round the 

hill ; 
But when his stately form was hid, 
The guardian in her bosom chid, — 
"Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish 

maid ! " 
'T was thus upbraiding conscience 

said, — 
" Not so had Malcolm idly hung 
On the smooth phrase of Southern 

tongue ; 
Not so had Malcolm strained his eye 
Another step than thine to spy. — 
Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried 
To the old minstrel by her side, — 
" Arouse thee from thy moody dream ! 
I '11 give thy harp heroic theme. 
And warm thee with a noble name ; 
Pour forth the glory of the Gra;me ! " 
Scarce from her lip the word Kad rushed. 
When deep the conscious maiden 

blushed ; 
For of his clan, in hall and bower, 
Young Malcolm Grseme was held the 

flower. 

VII. 

The minstrel waked his harp, — three 

times 
Arose the well-known martial chimes. 
And thrice their high heroic pride 
In melancholy murmurs died. 
" Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," 
Clasping his withered hands, he said. 



" Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 
Though all unwont to bid in vain. 
Alas I than mine a mightier hand 
Has tuned my harp, my strings has 

spanned ! 
I touch the chords of joy, but low 
And mournful answer notes of woe ; 
And the proud march, which victors 

tread. 
Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 
O, well for me, if mine alone 
That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 
If, as my tuneful fathers said. 
This harp, whi9h ejst Saint Modan 

swayed, ^- cr7, .(■ Tr/.n/A^'^ 
I Can thus its master'^ fate foretell, '1 , 
Then welcome be the minstrel's knell! 



" But ah ! dear ladj', thus it sighed, 
The eve thy sainted mother died ; 
And such the sounds which, while I 

strove 
To wake a lay of war or love, 
Came marring all the festal mirth. 
Appalling me who gave them birth. 
And, disobedient to my call. 
Wailed loud thrpugh Bpthwell's ban- 
nered hall, ■-' " '• , V ' 
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven, -^ i 
Were exiled from their native heaven. ~v*^^ 
O, if yet worse mishap and woe '// . ^ 
My master's house must undergo,""'^"*^^^ 
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair v , 

Brood in these accents of despair, 
No future bard, sad Harp ! shall fling 
Triumph or rapture from thy string ; 
C)ne short, one final strain shall flow. 
Fraught with unutterable woe. 
Then shivered shall thy fragments lie. 
Thy master cast him down and die ! " 



Soothing she answered him : "Assuage, 
Mine honored friend, the fears of age; 
All melodies to thee are known. 
That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, 
In Lowland vale or Highland glen, 
From T^eed to Spey — what rparvel, 

then, . '. ■' '"" "vvi*- ' ' 
At times, unbidden notes should rise, 
Confusedly bound in memory's ties. 
Entangling, as they rush along. 
The war-march with the funeral soDg ? — 



"/w^ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Small >?ronnd is now for boding fear ; 
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 
My sire, in native virtue great. 
Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 
Not then to fortune more resigned 
Than yonder oak might give the wind ; 
The graceful foliage storms may reave. 
The noble stem they cannot grieve.' 
For me " — she stooped, and, looking 

round, 
Plucked a blue harebell from the 

ground, — 
" For me, whose memory scarce con- 
veys 
An image of more splendid days, 
This little flower, that loves the lea, 
May well my simple emblem be ; 
It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 
That in the King's own garden grows ; 
And when I place it in my hair, 
Allan, a bard, is bound to swear 
He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 
Then playfully the chaplet wild 
She wreathed in her dark locks, and 
smiled. 

X. 

Her smile, her speech, with winning 

sway. 
Wiled the old Harper's mood away. 
With such a look as hermits throw, 
When angels stoop to soothe their woe, 
He gazed, till fond regret and pride 
Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied : 
*' Loveliest and best ! thou little 

know'st 
The rank, the honors, thou hast lost! 
O, might I live to see thee grace. 
In Scotland's court, thybirthright place, 
To see my favorite's step advance 
The lightest in the courtly dance, 
The cause of every gallant's sigh. 
And leading star of every eye. 
And theme of every minstrel's art. 
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart ! " -^ 



•K^ 



" Fair dreams are these," the maiden 

cried 
(Light was her accent, yet she sighed) ; 
" Yet is this mossy rock to me 
Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 
Nor would my footsteps spring more 

gay '^v ..;; ^ : ,-A ' . 
In courtly dancje than blithe stratli§£ey, 

|V«. <V/v.U.A-Vv<'V»-| »i Kt^vV- ^ 11'. i<.<C- 



Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 
And then for suitors proud and high, 
To bend before my conquering eye, — 
Tliou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say, 
I'hat grim Sir Roderick owns its sway, jn 
The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, <?Nt'vi' 
The terror of Loch-Lomond's side. 
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
A Lennox foray — jfor a day." —j t 

The ancient bard her glee repressed : 
" 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest ! 
For who, through all this western wild. 
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and 

smiled ! v 
In Holy- Rood a knight he slew ; } 
I sawr", when back the dirk he drew. 
Courtiers give place before the stride 
Of the undaunted homicide ; 
And since, though outlawed, hath his 

hand 
Full sternly kept his mountain land. 
Who else dared give — ah! woe the 

day. 
That I such hated truth should say ! —- A 
The Douglas, like a stricken deer, ':V '-X.* 
Disowned by every noble peer. 
Even the rude refuge we have here ? 
Alas, this wild marauding Chief 
Alone might hazard our relief. 
And now thy maiden charms expand. 
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; Ht^*^ 
Full soon may dispensation sought, Na.*^^., 
To back his suit, from Romebe brought. tiXi 
Then, though an exile on the hill, ^j /v,_,j, 
'i'hy father, as the Douglas, still 
Be held in reverence and fear ; 
And though to Roderick thou 'rt so 

dear, 
That thou might'st guide with silken 

thread. 
Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread ; 
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! 
Thy hand is on a lion's mane." — 



^C^VYjUw 6.Vt/v>0».^U^ h' H^'^i^c^iL^ 



"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
Her father's soul glanced from her 

eye, 
" My debts to Roderick's house I know; 
All that a mother could bestow, 
To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 
f -f ■ ' ' '.A ■■ ■; "'■ 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Since first an orphan in the wild 
She sorrowed o'er her sister's child ; 
To her brave chieftain son, from ire 
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my 

sire, '. .'~ ' 

A deeper, holier debt is owe5 ; ' 
And, could I pay it with my blood, 
Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 
My blood, my life, — but not my hand. 
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 
A votaress in Maronnan's cell ; 
Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
Seeking the world's cold charity, 
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard. 
An outcast pilgrim will she rove. 
Than wed the man she cannot love. 



" Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses 

gray, — 
That pleading look, what can it say 
But what I own ? — I grant him brave, 
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering 

wave ; 
And generous, — save vindictive mood 
Or jealous transport chafe his blood: 
I grant him true to friendly band, 
As his claymore is to his hand ; 
But O ! that very blade of steel 
More mercy for a foe would feel : 
I grant him liberal, to fling 
Among his clan the wealth they bring. 
When back by lake and glen they 

wind, 
And in the Lowland leave behind, 
Where once some pleasant hamlet 

stood, \ ■ •-■- - 
A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
The hand that for my father fought, 
I honor, as his daughter ought ; 
But can I clasp it reeking red 
From peasants slaughtered in their 

shed ? 
No ! wildly while his virtues gleam. 
They make his passions darker seem. 
And flash along his spirit high, 
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 
While yet a child, — and children know, 
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe, — 
I shuddered at his brow of gloom. 
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume ; 
A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
His haughty mien and lordly air : 



But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, 
In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
I thrill with anguish ! or. if e'er 
A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 
To change such odious theme were 

best, — 
What think'st thou of our stranger 

guest? " — 

XV. 

" What think I of him ? — woe the 

while 
That brought such wanderer to our isle ! 
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 
For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. 
What time he leagued, no longer foes. 
His Border spears with Hotspur's bows. 
Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 
The footstep of a secret foe. 
If courtly spy hath harbored here. 
What may we for the Douglas fear? 
What for this island, deemed of old 
Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? 
If neither spy nor foe, I pray . 
What yet may jealous Roderick say ? -- 
Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, 
Bethink thee of the discord dread. 
That kindled when at Beltane game 
Thou led'st the dance' wftli Malcolm 

Grame ; 
Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, 
Smoulders in Roderick'sbreast the feud ; 
Beware ! — but hark ! what sounds are 

these ? 
My dull ears catch no faltering breezr^ 
No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake. 
Still is the canria's hoary beard. 
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 
And hark again ! some pipe of war 
Sends the hold pibroch from afar." 

XVI. • 

Far up the lengthened lake were spied 
Four darkening specks upon the tide, 
That, slow enlarging on the view, 
Four manned and masted barges grew, 
And, bearing downwardsfrom Glengyle, 
Steered full upon the lonely isle ; 
The point of Brianchoil they passed, 
And, to the windward as they cast. 
Against the sun they gave to shine 
The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pi.ne, 
Nearer and nearer as they bear, 
Spear, pikes, and axes flash in ai^^. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



123 



Now might you see the tartans brave, ^ 
And plaids and plumage danc?*"and 

wave : 
Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 
As his tough oar the rower plies ; 
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, 
The wave ascending into smoke ; 
See the proud pipers on the bow. 
And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
From their loud chanters down, and 

sweep 
The furrowed bosom of the deep, 
As, rushing through the lake amain. 
They plied the ancipnt Highland strain. 

xvii. ' /■ ;" 

Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
At first the sound, by distance tame, 
Mellowed along the waters came, 
And, lingering long by cape and bay, 
Wailed every harsher note away. 
Then bursting bolder on the ear, 
The clan's shrill Gathering they could 

hear; 
Those thrilling sounds, that call the 

might 
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 
The mustering hundreds shake theglen. 
And hurrying at the signal dread. 
The battered earth returns their tread. 
Then prelude light, of livelier tone. 
Expressed their merry maVching on, 



Ere peal of closing battle rose. 

With mingled outcry, shrieks, and 

blows ; 
And mimic din of stroke and ward. 
As broadsword upon target jarred ; 
And groaning pause, ere yet again, 
Condensed, the battle yelled amain ; 
The rapid charge, the rallying shout. 
Retreat borne headlong into rout, 
And bursts of triumph, to declare 
Clan- Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow 
Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, 
And changed the conquering clarion 

swell 
For wild lament o'er those that fell. 



The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and 

hill 
Were busy with their echoes still ; 
And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again. 
While loud a hundred clansmen raise 
Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
Each boatman, bending to his oar, i 

With measured sweep the burden bore, pw 
In such wild cadence, as the treeze 
Makes through December's leafless 

trees. 
The chorus first could Allan know, 
" Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iro ! " 
And near, and nearer as they rowed, 
Distinct the martial ditty flowed. 



BOAT SONG. 
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! 

Honored and blessed be the evergreen Pine ! 
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! 
Heaven send it happy dew, 

1 * Earth lend it sap anew, 

^^iyrvJx Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 
While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back again, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain. 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 
Moored in the rifted rock, 'VvvLl'^fcr/ 

Proof to the tempest's shock, • -> "^^^ V?An.*^v 



124 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow : 
Menteith and Breadalbane, then, (*' 
Echo his praise again, 
' Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 



Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, . 

And Bannachar's groans to our slogan replied ; '^ 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. 
Widow and Saxon maid 
Long shall lament our raid, 
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe ; 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear again, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands I 

Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine ! 
O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands. 

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine ! 

O that some seedling gem. 

Worthy such noble stem, 
Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow I 

Loud should Clan-Alpine then 

Ring from her deepmost glen, 
" Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 



td. 



CVu 



With all her joyful female band 
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 
And high their snowy arms they threw, 
As echoing back with shrill acclaim, 
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; 
While, prompt to please, with mother's 

art, 
The darling passion of his heart, 
The Dame called Ellen to the strand. 
To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
"Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou. 
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow? " 
Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
The unwelcome summoning obeyed, 
And, when a distant bugle rung, 
In the mid-path aside she sprung : — 
"List, Allan-bane! From main-land cast 
I hear my father's signal blast. 
Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide, 
And waft him from the mountain-side." 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright. 
She darted to her shallop light. 
And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, 
For her dear fbrm, his mother's band, 



The islet far behind her lay, 
And she had landed in the bay. 



Some feelings are to mortals given. 
With less of earth in them than heaven ; 
And if there be a human tear 
From passion's dross refined and ciear, 
A tear so hmpid and so meek 
It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
'T is that which pious fathers shed 
Upon a duteous daughter's head I 
And as the Douglas to his breast 
His darling Ellen closely pressed, 
Such holy drops her tresses steeped. 
Though 't was an hero's eye that weeped. 
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
Her filial welcomes crowded hung. 
Marked she, that fear (affection's prooQ 
Still held a graceful youth aloof; 
No ! not till Douglas named his name. 
Although the youth was Malcolm 
Graeme. 

XXIII. 

Allan, with wistful look the while. 
Marked Roderick landing on the isle * 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



"5 



His master piteously he eyed, 
Thsn gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, 
Then dashed, with hasty hand, away 
From his dimmed eye the gathering 

spray ; 
And Douglas, as his hand he laid 
On Malcohn's shoulder, kindly said : 
" Canst thou, young friend, no meaning 

spy 

In my poor follower's ghstenmg eye ? 
I '11 tell thee : — he recalls the day 
When in my praise he led the lay 
O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud. 
While many a minstrel answered loud, 
When Percy's Norman pennon, won 
In bloody field, before me shone, 
And twice ten knights, the least a name 
As mighty as yon Chief may claim.. 
Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 
Was I of all that marshalled crowd. 
Though the waned crescent owned my 

might, ' ''■■-. 

And in my train trooped lord and knight, 
Though Blantyre hymned her holiest 

lays, ■ ■ / : -^ ' . 

And Bothwell's bards flung back my 

praise. 
As when this old man's silent tear. 
And this poor maid's affection dear, 
A welcome give more kind and true 
Than aught my better fortunes knew. 
Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, 
O, it out-beggars all I lost ! " 



Delightful praise ! — like summer rose, 
That brighter in the dew-drop glows. 
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared. 
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
The flush of shame-faced joy. to hide. 
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 
The loved caresses of the maid 
The dogs with crouch and whimper 

paid ; 
And, at her whistle, on her hand 
The falcon took his favorite stand. 
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, 
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
And, truest, while in such guise she stood, 
Like^fabled Goddess of the wood. 
That if a father's partial thought 
O'erweighed her worth and beauty 

aught, 



Well might the lover's judgment fail 
To balance with a juster scale ; 
For with each secret glance he stole, 
The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 



Of stature tall, and slender frames 
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Grseme. 
The belted plaid and tartan hose 
Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose : 
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 
Curled closely round his bonnet blue. 
Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 
The ptarmigan in snow could spy : 
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 
He knew, through Lennox and Men- 

teith ; 
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 
And scarce that doe, though winged 

with fear. 
Outstripped in speed the mountaineer : 
Right up Ben-Lomond could he press. 
And not a sob his toil confess. 
His form accorded with a mind 
Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
A blither heart, till Ellen came, 
Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
It danced as lightsome in his breast 
As played the feather on his crest. 
Yet friends, who nearestknewtheyouth, 
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth. 
And bards, who saw his features bold, 
When kindled by the tales of old, 
Said, were that youth to manhoodgrown. 
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, 
But quail to that of Malcolm Grsme. 



Now back they wend their watery way. 
And, " O my sire ! " did Ellen say, 
" Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 
And why so late returned ? And why — " 
The rest was in her speaking eye. 
" My child, the chase I follow far, 
'T is mimicry of noble war ; 
And with that gallant pastime reft 
Were all of Douglas I have left. 
I met young Malcolm as I strayed 
, Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade. 
Nor strayed I safe ; for, all around, 
Hunters and horsemen scoured the 
ground. 



126 



THE LADY OF 



This youth, though still a royal ward, 
Risked life and land to be my guard, 
And through the passes of the wood 
Guided n>y steps, not unpursued ; 
And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
y Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
Then must heseek Strath-Endrick glen. 
Nor peril aught for me again." 



Sir Roderick, who to meet them came. 
Reddened at sight of Malcolm Grsme, 
Yet, not in action, word, or eye. 
Failed aught in hospitality. 
In talk and sport they whiled away 
The morning of that summer day ; 
But at high noon a courier light 
Held secret parley with the knight, 
Whose moody aspect soon declared 
That evil were the news he heard. 
Deep thought seemed toiling in his 

head ; 
Yet was the evening banquet made 
Ere he assembled round the flame, 
His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, 
And Ellen, too ; then cast around 
His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, 
As studying phrase that might avail 
Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
Long with his dagger's hilt he played, 
Then raised his haughty brow, and 

said : — 



" Short be my speech ; — nor time af- 
fords, ' 
Nor my plain temper, elozing words. 
Kinsman and father, — if such name 
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 
Mine honored mother ; — Ellen — why, 
My cousin, turn away thine eye? — 
And Grame ; in whom I hope to know 
Full soon a noble friend or foe. 
When age shall give thee thy command, 
And leading in thy native land, — 
I^ist all ! — The King's vindictive pride 
Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, 
Where chiefs, with hound and hawk 

who came 
To share their monarch's sylvan game, 
Themselves in bloody toils weresnared ; 
And when the banquet they prej^ared. 
And wide their loyal portals flung. 
O'er their own gateway struggling hung. 



THE LAKE. -> 

Loud cries their blood from Meggat's 

mead, ■ \ i ,_ ■ 
From Yarrow braes, and banks of 

Tweed, 
Where the lone streams of Ettrick 

glide. 
And from the silver Teviot's side ; 
The dales, where martial clans did ride. 
Are now one sheep-walk, waste and 

wide. 
This tyrant of the Scottish throne, 
So faithless, and so ruthless known. 
Now hither comes ; his end the same, 
The same pretext of sylvan game. 
What grace for Highland Chiefs, judg« 

ye 
By fate of Border chivalry. 
Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas' green, 
Douglas, thy stately form was seen. 
This by espial sure I know : 
You;- pounsel in the streight Lshow." 
.-■ !,<>,-.. v.. ,C'^ . •itVv,:,. t^^ 

Ellen and Margaret fearfully 
Sought comfort in each other's eye, 
Then turned their ghastly look, eac'" 

one, 
This to her sire, that to her son. 
The hasty color went and came 
In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme 
But from his glance it well appeared 
'T was but for Ellen that he feared : 
While, sorrowful, but undismayed. 
The Douglas thus his counsel said : — 
" Brave Roderick, though the tempesi 

roar, 
It may but thunder and pa.'is o'er ; 
Nor will I here remain an hour. 
To draw the lightning on thy bower ; 
For well thou know'st, at this gray 

head 
The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 
For thee, who, at thy King's com- 
mand. 
Canst aid him with a gallant band, 
Submission, homage, humbled pride, 
Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. 
Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, 
Ellen and I will seek, apart. 
The refuge of some forest cell. 
There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, 
Till on the mountain and the moor 
The stern pursuit be passed and 
o'er." — 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



127 



" No, by mine honor," Roderick said, 
" So help me Heaven, and my good 

blade ! 
No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine, 
My father's ancient crest and mine, 
If from its shade in danp;er part 
The lineage of the Bleeding Heart ! 
Hear my blunt speech : grant me this 

maid 
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 
To Douglas, leagued with Roderick 

Dhu, 
Will friends and allies flock enow ; 
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 
Will bind to us each Western Chief 
When the loud pipes my bridal tell, j 
The Links of Forth shall bear the knell, 
The guards shall start in Stu'ling's 

porch ; 
And, when I light the nuptial torch, 
A thousand villages in flames 
Shall scare the slumbers of Kine; James ! 
Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away. 
And, mother, cease these signs, I pray ; 
I meant not all my heart might say. — 
Small need of inroad, or of fight, 
When the sage Douglas may unite 
Each mountain clan in friendly band, 
I'o guard the passes of their land. 
Till the foiled King, from pathless glen. 
Shall bootless turn him home again." 



There are who have, at midnight hour, 
In slumber scaled a dizzy tower. 
And, on the verge that beetled o'er 
The ocean tide's incessant roar, 
Dreamed calmly out their dangerous 

dream, 
Till wakened by the morning beam ; 
When, dazzled by the eastern glow, 
Such startler cast his glance below. 
And saw unmeasured depth around, 
And heard unintermitted sound. 
And thought the battled fence feo frail, 
It waved like cobvveb in the gale ; — 
Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 
Did he not desperate impulse feel, 
Headlong to plunge himself below, 
And meet the worst his fears fore- 
show ? — 
Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound. 
As sudden ruin yawned around. 



By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 
Still foFthe Douglas fearing most. 
Could scarce the desperate thought 

withstand, 
To buy his safety with her hand. 



Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 
And eager rose to speak, — but ere 
His tongue could hurry forth his fear. 
Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, 
Where death seemed combating with 

life ; 
For to her cheek, in feverish flood. 
One instant rushed the throbbing blood, 
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 
Left its domain as wan as clay. 
"Roderick, enough! enough!" he 

cried, 
" My daughter cannot be thy bride ; 
Not that the blush to wooer dear, 
Nor paleness that of maiden fear. 
It may not be, — forgive her. Chief, 
Nor hazard aught for our relief 
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 
Will level a rebellious spear. 
'Twas I that taught his youthful hand 
To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 
I see him ye't, the princely boy ! 
Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 
I love him still, despite my wrongs. 
By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues. 
O, seek the grace you well may find, 
Without a cause to mine combined." 



Twice through the hall the Chieftain 

strode ; 
The waving of his tartans broad, 
And darkened brow, where wounded 

pride 
With ire and disappointment vied. 
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, 
Like the ill Demon of the night. 
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : 
But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart. 
And Roderick, with thine anguish 

stung. 
At length the hand of Douglas wrung, 
While eyes that mocked at tears before 
With bitter drops were running o'er. 



128 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 
But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
Convulsive heaved its checkered 

shroud, ^ ■*'^^ ' ' iv- ." ' ■" 
While every sob — so mute were all — 
Was heard distinctly through the hall. 
The son's despair, the mother's look, 
111 might the gentle Ellen brook ; 
She rose, and to her side there came. 
To aid her parting steps, the Grsme. 

xxxiv. 
Then Roderick from the Douglas 

broke — 
As flashes flame through sable smoke, 
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and 

low, 
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow. 
So the deep anguish of despair 
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 
"Back, beardless boy!" he sternly 

said, 
" Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at 

naught 
The lesson I so lately taught ? 
This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 
Thank thou for punishment delayed." 
Eager as greyhound on his game, 
Fie'rcely with Roderick grappled 

Graeme. 
" Perish my name, if aught afford 
Its Chieftain safety save his sword 1 " 
Thus as they strove their desperate 

hand 
Griped to the dagger or the brand, 
And death had been— but Douglas rose, 
And thrust between the struggling foes 
His giant strength : — " Chieftains, 

forego ! 
I hold the first who strikes my foe. — 
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 
What ! is the Douglas fallen so far. 
His daughter's hand is doomed the 

spoil 
Of such dishonorable broil ! " 
Sullen and slowly they unclasp, 
As struck with shame, their desperate 

grasp, 
And each upon his rival glared, 
With foot advanced, and blade half 

bared. 



Ere yet the brands aloft were fl^ng, 
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung. 
And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, 
As faltered through terrific dream. 
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his 

sword. 
And veiled his wrath in scornful word : 
" Rest safe till morning ; pity 't were 
Such cheek should feel the midnight 

air ! 
Then mavest thou to James Stuart tell, 
Roderick" will keep the lake and fellj 
Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan. 
The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
More would he of Clan-Alpine know. 
Thou canst our strength apd passes 

show. — '^ ■ ■• 'i 'v~- ••, 
Mahse, what ho!" — his henchman 

came : 
" Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 
Young Malcolm answered, calm and 

bold : 
" Fear nothing for thy favorite hold ; 
The spot an angel deigned to grace 
Is blessed, though robbers haunt the 

place. 
Thy churlish courtesy for those 
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
As safe to me the mountain way 
At midnight as in blaze of day, 
Though with his boldest at his back, 
'Even Roderick Dhu beset the track — 
Brave Douglas, —lovely Ellen, — nay, 
Naught here of parting will I say. 
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen. 
So secret, but we meet again. — 
Chieftain ! we too shall find an hour,"— - 
He said, and left the sylvan bower. 



Old Allan followed to the strand, 
(Such was the Douglas's command,) 
And anxious told, how, on the morn. 
The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn, 
The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
Dale, glen, and valley, down and moor. 
Much were the peril to the Graeme, 
From those who to the signal came ; 
Far up the lake 't were safest land, 
Himself would row him to the strand. 
He gave his counsel to the wind. 
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



129 



Rt/und dirk and pouch and broadsword 

rolled, 
His ample plaid in tightened fold, 
And stripped his limbs to such array 
As best might suit the watery way, — 



Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee, 

Pattern of old fidelity ! " 

The Minstrel's hand he kindly 

pressed, — 
" O, could I point a place of rest ! 
My sovereign holds in ward my land, 
My uncle leads my vassal band ; 
To tame his foes, his friends to aid, 
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 
Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 
Who loves the chieftain of his name. 
Not long shall honored Douglas dwell 
Like hunted stag in raountain cell ; 



Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber 

dare, — 
T may not give the rest to air ! 
Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him naught. 
Not the poor service of a boat. 
To waft me to yon mountain-side." 
Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, 
And stoutly steered him from the 

shore ; 
And Allan strained his anxious eye, 
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy. 
Darkening across each puny wave. 
To which the moon her silver gave, 
Fast as the cormorant could skim, 
I'he swimmer plied each active limb ; 
I'hen landing in the moonlight dell, 
Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
The Minstrel heard the far halloo. 
And joyful from the shore withdrew. 



CANTO THIRD. 

THE GATHERING. 



Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore. 

Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, 

Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea 
How are they blotted from the things that be ! 

How few, all weak and withered of their force, 
Wait on the verge of dark eternity. 

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, 
To sweep them from our sight ! Time rolls his ceaseless course. 

Yet live there still who can remember well. 

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, 
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, 

And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 
And fast the faithful clan around him drew, 

What time the warning note was keenly wound, 
What time aloft their kindred banner flew, 

While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound, 
And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. 



The Summer dawns reflected hue 
To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 
Mildly and soft the western breeze 
Just kissed the lake, just stirred the 

trees, 
And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, 
Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 



The mountain-shadows on her breast 
Were neither broken nor at rest ; 
In bright uncertainty they lie, 
Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 
The water-lily to the light 
Her chalice reared of .silver bright ; 
The doe awoke, and to the lawn. 
Begemmed with dew-drops, led her 
fawQ ; 



130 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



<A. 



The gray mist left the mountain-side, 

The torrent showed its glistening pride ; 

Invisible in flecked sky, 

The lark sent down her revelry ; 

The blackbird and the speckled thrush 

Good-morrow gave from brake and 

bush ; 
In answer cooed the cushat dove 
Her notes of peace and rest and love. 



No thought of peace, no thought of rest. 
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's 

breast. 
With sheathed broadsword in his hand, 
Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
His hand on his impatient blade. 
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 
Was prompt the ritual to prepare,' 
With deep and deathful meaning 

fraught ; 
For such Antiquity had taught 
Was preface meet, ere yet abroad 
The Cross of Fire should take its road. 
The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
At the impatient glance he cast ; — 
Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 
As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 
She spread her dark sails on the wind, 
And, high in middle heaven reclined. 
With her broad shadow on the lake, 
Silenced the warblers of the brake. 



A heap of withered boughs was piled, , 
Of juniper and rowan wild, l\' V , 6 C ;• 
Mingled with shivers from the oak, 
Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. 
Brian, the Hermit, by it stood. 
Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
His grizzled beard and matted hair 
Obscured a visage of despair ; 
His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, 
The scars of frantic penance bore. 
That monk, of savage form and face, 
*^The impending danger of his race 
Had drawn from deepest solitude, 
Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 
Not his the mien of Christian priest, 
But Druid's, from the grave released, 
Whose hardened heart and eye might 

brook 
On human sacrifice to look ; 



And much, 't was said, of heathen lore 
Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. 
The hallowed creed gave only worse 
And deadlier emphasis of curse ; 
No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, 
His cave the pilgrim shunned with care, 
The eager huntsman knew his bound, 
And in mid chase called off his hound ; 
Or if, in lonely glen or strath, 
The desert-dweller met his path. 
He prayed, and signed the cross be- 
tween. 
While terror took devotion's mien. 



Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 
His mother watched a midnight fold. 
Built deep within a dreary glen, 
Where scattered lay the bones of men 
In some forgotten battle slain, 
And bleached by drifting wind and rain. 
It might have tamed a warrior's heart 
To view such mockery of his art ! 
The knot-grass fettered there the hand 
Which once could burst an iron band ; 
Beneath the broad and ample bone, 
That bucklered heart to fear unknown, 
A feeble and a timorous guest. 
The field-fare framed her lowly nest ; 
There the slow blind-worm left his 

slime 
On the fleet limbs that mocked at time ; 
And there, too, lay the leader's skull, 
Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and 

full. 
For heath-bell, with her purple bloom, 
Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
All night, in this sad glen, the maid 
Sat, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
She said no shepherd sought her 

side. 
No hunter's hand her snood untied, 
Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 
The virgin siiood did Alice wear ; 
Gone was her maiden glee and sport. 
Her maiden girdle all too short. 
Nor sought she, from that fatal night. 
Or holy church or blessed rite. 
But locked her secret in her breast. 
And died in travail, unconfessed. 



Alone, among his young compeers* 
Was Brian from his infant years ; 



jBi 



vt^C<_^ l-i: 



THE LADV OF THE LAKE. 



131 



A moody and heart-broken boy. 
Estranged from sympathy and joy, 
Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 
On his mysterious lineage flung. 
Whole nights he spent by moonlight 

pale, 
To wood and stream his hap to wail. 
Till, frantic, he as truth received 
What of his birth the crowd believed. 
And sought, in mist and meteor fire, 
To meet and know his Phantom Sire ! 
In vain, to soothe his wayward fate. 
The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
In vain the learning of the age 
Unclasped the sable-lettered page ; ' 
Even in its treasures he could find 
Food for the fever of his mind. 
Eager he read whatever tells 
Of magic, cabala, and spells, '^""-^^./c,-, 
And every d^Tk pursuit allied / 
To curious and presumptuous pride : 
Till with fired brain and nerves o'er- 

strung. 
And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 
Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, 
And hid him from the haunts of men. 



The desert gave him visions wild, 
Such as might suit the spectre's child. 
Where with black cliffs the torrents toil, 
He watched the wheeling eddies boil. 
Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 
Beheld the River Demon rise : 
The mountain mist took form and limb 
Of noontide hag or goblin grim ; 
The midnight wind came wild and dread, 
Swelled with the voices of the dead ; 
Far on the future battle-heath 
His eye beheld the ranks of death : 
Thus the lone Seer, from mankind 

hurled. 
Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
One lingering sympathy of mind 
Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 
The only parent he could claim 
Of ancient Alpine lineage came. 
Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, 
The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream ; 
Sounds, too, had come in midnightblast. 
Of charging steeds, careering fast 
Along Benharrow's shingly side, 
Where mortal horsemen ne'er might 

ride ; 



4. 



The thunderbolt had split the pine, — 
All augured ill to Alpine's line. 
He girt his loins, and came to show 
The signals of impending woe. 
And now stood prompt to bless or ban, 
As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 



'T was all prepared ; — and from the 

rock 
A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 
Before the kindling pile was laid. 
And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
Patient the sickening victim eyed 
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
Down his clogged beard and shaggy 

limb, 
Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
The grisly priest, with murmuring 

prayer, 
A slender crosslet formed with care, ' 1 

A cubit's length in measure due ; ) ^ ^^^^ 
The shaft ana limbs were rods of yew, 
Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
Their shadows o'er Clan - Alpine's 

grave, ;/ ' ^( S ' ' 
And, answering Lomond's breezes 

deep, 
Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
The Cross, thus formed, beheld on high, 
With wasted hand and haggard eye, 
And strange and mingled feelings woke, 
While his anathema he spoke : — * 

" Woe to the clansman who shall view , 
This symbol of sepulchral yew. 
Forgetful that its branches grew 
Where weep the heavens their holiest 
dew 

On Alpine's dwelling low 1 
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, 
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 
But, from his sires and kindred thrust, 
Each clansman's execration just 

Shall doom him wrath and woe." 
He paused ; — the word the vassals 

took. 
With forward step and fiery look, 
On high their naked brands they shook, 
Their clattering targets wildly stropk ; 

And first in murmur low. 
Then, like the billow in his course. 
That far to seaward finds his source. 



^v 



w ^ h. 



132 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



And flings to shore his mustered force, 
Burst, with loud roar, their answer 
hoarse, 
" Woe to the traitor, woe ! " , - i 
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew, 
The joyous wolf from covert drew, 
The exulting eagle screamed afar, — 
They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 



The shout was hushed on lake and fell, 
The Monk resumed his muttered spell : 
Dismal and low its accents came, 
The while he scathed the Cross with 

flame : ' 

And the few words that reached the air, 
Although the holiest name was there. 
Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
But when he shook above the crowd 
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
" Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 
At this dread sign the ready spear 1 
For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
His home, the refuge of his fear, 

A kindred fate shall know ; 
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, 
While maids and matrons on his name 
Shall call down wretchedness and 
shame. 

And infamy and woe." 
Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
As goshawk's whistle on the hill. 
Denouncing misery and ill, 
Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 

Of curses stammered slow ; 
Answering, with imprecation dread, 
" Sunk be his home in embers red ! 
And cursed be the meanest shed 
That e'er shall hide the houseless head 

We doom to want and woe ! " 
A sharp and shrieking echo gave, 
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
And the gray pass where birches wave, 

On Beala-nam-bo. 



Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
And hard his laboring breath he drew. 
While, with set teeth and clenched 

hand. 
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, 
He meditated curse more dread, 
And deadlier, on the clansman's head, 



Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, 
The signal saw and disobeyed. 
■ The crosslet's points of sparkling wood 
t He quenched among the bubbling 

blood. 
And, as again the sign he reared. 
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
" When flits this Cross from man to 

man, 
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan. 
Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! 
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed ! 
May ravens tear the careless eyes, 
Wolves make the coward heart their 

prize ! 
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, 
So may his heart's-blood drench his 

hearth ! 
As dies in hissing gore the spark, 
Quench thou his light, Destruction 

dark ! 
And be the grace to him denied, 
Bought by this sign to all beside ! *' 
He ceased ; no echo gave again 
The murmur of the deep Amen. 



Then Roderick, with impatient look. 
From Brian's hand the symbol took : 
" Speed, Malise, speed ! " he said, aud 

gave 
The crosslet to his henchman brave. 
" The muster-place be Lanrickme^d — 
Instant the time — speed, ~~Malise, 

speed ! " 
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pur- 
sue, 
A barge across Loch Katrine flew ; 
High stood the henchman on the prow, 
So rapidly the barge-men row. 
The bubbles, where they launched the 

boat. 
Were all imbroken and afloat, 
Dancing in foam and ripple still. 
When it had neared the main-land hill ; 
And from the silver beach's side 
Still was the prow three fathom wide, 
When lightly bounded to the land 
The messenger of blood and brand. 



Speed, Malise, speed ! Ithe dun deer's 

hide 
On fleeter foot was never tied. I • 



»-* 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



131 



Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of 

haste 
Thine active sinews never braced. 
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, 
Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 
With short and springing footstep pass 
The trembling bog and false morass ; 
Across the brook like roebuck bound. 
And thread the brake like questing 

hound ; 
The crag is high, the scaur is deep, 
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : 
Parched are thy burning lips and brow, 
Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
Stretch onward in thy fleet career ! 
The wounded hind thou track' st not 

now, 
Pursuest not maid through greenwood 

bough, 
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace 
With rivals in the mountain race ; 
But danger, death, and warrior deed 
Are in thy course — speed, Malise, 

speed 1 



Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 
In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
From winding glen, from upland brown. 
They poured each hardy tenant down. 
Nor slacked the messenger his pace ; 
He showed the sign, he named the 

place, 
And, pressing forward like the wind, 
Left clamor and surprise behind. 
The fisherman forsook the strand, 
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand ; 
With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
Left in the half-cut swath the scythe ; 
The herds without a keeper strayed, 
The plough was in mid-furrow stayed, 
The falconer tossed his hawk away, 
The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
Prompt at the signal of alarms, 
Each son of Alpine rushed to arms ; 
So swept the tumult and affray 
Along the margin of Achray. 
Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 
Thy banks should echo sounds of fear ! 
The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 
So stilly on thy bosom deep, 
The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud. 
Seems for the scene toogayly loud. 



Speed, Malise, speed ! The lakeis past, 
Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 
And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half 

seen. 
Half hidden in the copse so green ; 
There may'st thou rest, thy labor done. 
Their Lord shall speed the signal on. — • 
As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 
The henchman shot him down the way. 
What woful accents load the gale ? 
The funeral yell, the female wail ! 
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 
A valiant warrior fights no more. 
Who, in the battle or the chase, 
At Roderick'ssideshall fill his place !— 
Within the hall, where torches' ray 
Supplies the excluded beams of day. 
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 
And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
His stripling son stands mournful by, 
His youngest weeps, but knows not 

why ; 
The village maids and matrons round 
The dismal coronach resound. 

■ *■ ■ JcVr. -■ ■ ■ 

' ' ^ "■ CORONACH. ' 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain. 

When our need was the sorest. "« 

The font, reappearing, r * 

From the rain-drops shall borro^ 
But to us comes no cheering. 

To Duncan no morrow ! 
The hand of the reaper 

Takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are scares^ 
But our flower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest 

Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray. 

How sound is thy slumber ! 
Like the dew on the mountain, 

Like the foam on the river, 
Lik'* ihe bubble on the fountain. 

Thou art gone, and forever 1 



134 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



See Stumah, who, the bier beside, 
His master's corpse with wonder eyed, 
Poor Stumah ! whom his least halloo 
Could send like lightning o'er the dew, 
Bristles his crest, and points his ears, 
As if some stranger step he hears. 
'T is not a mourner's muffled tread, 
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, 
But headlong haste, or deadly fear, 
Urge the precipitate career. 
All stand aghast : — unheeding all, 
The henchman bursts into the hall ; 
Before the dead man's bier he stood ; 
Held forth the cross besmeared with 

blood ; 
" The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 
Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, 

speed ! " 

x\-ni. 

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line. 
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. 
In haste the stripling to his side 
His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 
But when he saw his mother's eye 
Watch him in speechless agony. 
Back to her opened arms he flew. 
Pressed on her lips a fond adieu, — 
" Alas ! " she sobbed, — " and yet be 

gone. 
And speed thee forth, like Duncan's 

son ! " 
One look he cast upon the bier, 
Dasiied from his eye the gathering tear. 
Breathed deep to clear his laboring 

breast, 
And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, 
Then, like the high-bred colt, when, 

freed, 
First he essays his fire and speed. 
He vanished, and o'er moor and moss 
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
Suspended was the widow's tear, 
While yet his footsteps she could hear ; 
And when she marked the henchman's 

eye 
Wet with unwonted sympathy, . 
" Kinsman," she said, " his race is run, 
'^hat should have sped thine errand on ; 
The oak has fallen, — the sapling bough 
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 
Yet trust I well, his duty done. 
The orphan's God will guard my son. — 



And you, in many a danger true, 
At Duncan's best your blades that dreTV, 
To arms, and guard that orphan's head ! 
Let babes and women wail the dead." 
Then weapon-clang, and martial call. 
Resounded through the funeral hall, 
While from the walls the attendant band 
Snatched sword and targe, with hurried 

hand ; 
And short and flitting energy 
Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, 
As if the sounds to warrior dear 
Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. 
But faded soon that borrowed force ; 
Grief claimed his right, and tears their 

Benledl saw the Cross of Fire, 
It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. 
O'er dale and hill the summons flew. 
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew ; 
The tear that gathered in his eye 
He left the mountain-breeze to dry ; 
Until, where Teith's young waters roll 
Betwixt liim and a wooded knoll 
That graced the sable strath with green, 
The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, 
But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
Though the dark waves danced dizzily. 
Though reeled his sympathetic eye. 
He dashed amid the torrent's roar : 
His right hand high the crosslet bore, 
His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide 
And stay his footing in the tide. 
Hestumbled twice, — the foam splashed 

high. 
With hoarser swell the stream raced 

by; 
And had he fallen, — forever there, 
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! 
But still, as if in parting life. 
Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife. 
Until the opposing bank he gained. 
And up the chapel pathway strained. 



A blithesome rout, that morning tide, 
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. 
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
To Norman, heir of Armandave, 
And, issuing from the Gothic arch, 
The bridal now resumed their march. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



135 



In rude, but glad procession, came 
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 
Which snooded maiden would not hear ; 
And children, that, unwitting why, 
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry ; 
And minstrels, that in measures vied 
Before the young and bonny bride, 
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
The tear and blush of morning rose. 
With virgin step and bashful hand 
She held the 'kerchiefs snowy band 
The gallant bridegroom, by her side, 
Beheld his prize with victor's pride, 
And the glad mother in her ear 
Was closely whispering word of cheer. 



Who meets them at the churchyard 

gate? 
The messenger of fear and fate ! 
Haste in his hurried accent lies. 
And grief is swimming in his eyes. 
All dripping from the recent flood, 
Panting and travel -soiled he stood. 
The fatal sign of fire and sword 
Held for*h, ind spoke the appointed 

jVOi'd : 
'The muster-place is Lanrick mead ; 
Speed forth the signal ! Norman, 

speed ! " 
And must he change so soon the hand 
Just linked to his by holy band. 
For the fell Cross of blood and brand ? 
And must the day, so blithe that rose, 
And promised rapture in the close, 
Before its setting hour, divide 
The bridegroom fromthe plighted bride ? 
O fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 
Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's 

trust, 
Her summons dread, brook no delay ; 
Stretch to the race, — away ! away ! 



Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, 
Until he saw the starting tear 
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ; 
Then, trusting not a second look. 
In haste he sped him up the brook. 
Nor backward glanced, till on the heath 
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the 
Teith. — 



What in the racer's bosom stirred? 
The sickening pang of hope deferred. 
And memory, with a torturing train 
Of all his morning visions vain. 
Mingled with love's impatience, came 
The manly thirst for martial fame ; 
The stormy joy of mountaineers. 
Ere yet they rush upon the spears : 
And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burn- 
ing, 
And hope, from well-fought field re- 
turning. 
With war's red honors on his crest, 
To clasp his Mary to his breast. 
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and 

brae. 
Like fire from flint he glanced away. 
While high resolve, and feeling strong, 
Burst into voluntary song. 



The heath this night must be my bed, 
The bracken curtain for my head, 
My lullaby the warder's tread. 

Far, far, from love and thee, Mary ; 
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. 
My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid \ 

It will not waken me, Mary ! 

I may not, dare not, fancy now 

The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, 

I dare not think upon thy vow. 

And all it promised me, Mary. 
No fond regret must Norman know ; 
When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, 
His heart must be like bended bow. 

His foot like arrow free, Mary. 

A time will come with feeling fraught, 
For, if I fall in battle fought. 
Thy hapless lover's dying thought 

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
And if returned from conquered foes, 
How blithely will the evening close. 
How sweet the linnet sing repose, 

To my young bride and me, Mary ! 



Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
Balquhidder, speeds the midnight blaze. 
Rushing, in conflagration strong. 
Thy deep ravines and dells along. 



136 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, 
And reddening the dark lakes below ; 
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 
The signal roused to martial coil 
The sullen margin of Loch Voil, 
Waked still Loch Doine, and to the 

source. 
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
Thence southward turned its rapid road 
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad, 
Till rose in arms each man might claim 
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, 
From the gray sire, whose trembling 

hand 
Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
Were yet scarce terror to the crow. 
Each valley, each sequestered glen, 
Mustered its little horde of men. 
That met as torrents from the height 
In Highland dales their streams unite, 
Still gathering, as they pour along, 
A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 
Till at the rendezvous they stood 
By hundreds prompt for blows and 

blood. 
Each trained to arms since life began. 
Owning no tie but to his clan. 
No oath but by his chieftain's hand. 
No law but Roderick Dhu's command. 



That summer mom had Roderick Dhu 
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, 
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath. 
To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
All backward came with news of truce ; 
Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, 
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait. 
No banner waved on Cardross gate. 
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone. 
Nor scared the herons from Loch Con ; 
All seemed at peace. — Now wot ye why 
The Chieftain, with such anxious eye. 
Ere to the muster he repair, 
I'his western frontier scanned with 

care ? — 
In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 
A fair, though cruel, pledge was left ; 
For Douglas, to his promise true. 
That morning from the isle withdrew. 
And in a deep sequestered dell 
Had sought a low and lonely cell. 



By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, 
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung ; 
A softer name the Saxons gave. 
And called the grot the Goblin Cave. 



It was a wild and strange retreat, 
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
The dell, upon the mountain's crest. 
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
Its trench had stayed full many a rock, 
Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 
From Benvenue's gray summit wild. 
And here, in random ruin piled. 
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot, 
And formed the rugged sylvan grot. 
The oak and birch, with mingled shade, 
At noontide there a twilight made, 
Unless when short and sudden shone 
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone. 
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
No murmur waked the solemn still, 
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ;^ 
But when the wind chafed with the lake, 
A sullen sound would upward break. 
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
The incessant war of wave and rock. 
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway. 
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. 
From such a den the wolf had sprung. 
In such the wildcat leaves her young ; 
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 
Sought for a space their safety there. 
Gray Superstition's whisper dread 
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread ; 
For there, she said, did fays resort. 
And satyrs hold their sylvan court. 
By moonlight tread their mystic maze, 
And blast the rash beholder's gaze. 



Now eve, with western shadows long. 
Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 
When Roderick, with a chosen few. 
Repassed the heights of Benvenue. 
Above the Goblin Cave they go. 
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo; 
The prompt retainers speedTefore, 
To launch the shallop from the shore. 
For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way 
To view the passes of Achray, 
And place his clansmen in array^ / 



THE LADY OF 

Xy^ ■ " '. . 

Yet lags the Chief in musing mind, 
Unwonted sight, his men behind. 
\A single page, to bear his sword, 
Alone attended on his lord ; 
The rest their way through thickets 

break, 
And soon await him by the lake. 
It was a fair and gallant sight. 
To view them from the neighboring 

height. 
By the low-levelled sunbeam's light ! 
For strength and stature, from the clan 
Each warrior was a chosen man, 
As even afar miglrt well be seen, 
By their proud step and martial mien. 
Their feathers dance, their tartans float. 
Their targets gleam, as by the boat 
A wild and warlike group they stand. 
That well became such mountain-strand. 



T//E LAKE. 



»37 



Their Chief, with step reluctant, still 
Was lingering on the craggy hill, 
Hard by where turned apart the road 
To Douglas's obscure abode. 
It was but with that dawning morn 
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn 
To drown his love in war's wild roar, 
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
But he who stems a stream with sand, 
And fetters flame with flaxen band, 
Has yet a harder task to prove, — 
By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, 
Still hovering near his treasure lost ; 
For though his haughty heart deny 
A parting meeting to his eye, 
Still fondly strains his anxious ear 
The accents of her voice to hear. 
And inly did he curse the breeze 
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But hark ! what mingles in the strain ? 
It is the harp of Allan-bane, 
That wakes its measure slow and high, 
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
What melting voice attends the strings? 
*T is Ellen, or an angel, sings. 

XXIX. 

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. 

Ave Maria I maiden mild ! 

Listen to a maiden's prayer ! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild, 

Thou canst save amid despair. 



Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 
Though banished, outcast, and re- 
viled — 
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ; 
Mother, hear a suppliant child ! 

A ve Maria I 

Ave Maria ! undefiled ! 

The flinty couch we now must share 
Shall seem with down of eider piled, 

If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern's heavy air 

Shall breathe of balm if thou hast 
smiled ; 
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer. 

Mother, list a suppliant child ! 

A ve Maria ! 

Ave Maria ! Stainless styled ! 

Foul demons of the earth and air, 
From this their wonted haunt exiled, 

Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care. 

Beneath thy guidance reconciled : 
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer. 

And for a father hear a child ! 

A ve Maria ! 



Died on the harp the closing hymn, — 
Unmoved in attitude and limb, 
As, listening still. Clan- Alpine's lord 
Stood leaning on his heavy sword. 
Until the page, with humble sign, 
Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 
Then while his plaid he round him cast, 
" It is the last time — 't is the last," 
He muttered thrice, — " the last time 

e'er 
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear ! " 
It was a goading thought, — his stride 
Hied hastier down the mountain-side ; 
Sullen he flung him in the boat, 
And instant 'cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery bay. 
And eastward held their hasty way, 
I'ill, with the latest beams of light. 
The band arrived on Lanrick height, 
Where mustered, in the vale below, 
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show. 

XXXI. 

A various scene the ';ian.'=m'!n mac^e, 
Some sat, some stuod. some slowly 
strayed ; 



X38 



THE LADV OF THE LAKE. 



But most, with mantles folded round, 
Were couched to rest upon the ground, 
Scarce to be known by curious eye 
From the deep heather where they lie, 
So well was matched the tartan screen 
With heath-bell dark and brackens 

green ; 
Unless where, here and there, a blade. 
Or lance's point, a glimmer made, 
Like glow-worm twinkling through the 

shade. 



But when, advancing through the 

gloom. 
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, 
Their shout of welcome, shrill and 

wide. 
Shook the steep mountain's steady 

side. 
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
Three times returned the martial yell ; 
It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
And Silence claimed her evening reig«. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



THE PROPHECY. 



" The rose is fairest when 't is budding new. 

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears: 
The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, 

And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. 
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 

I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 
Emblem of hope and love through future years ! " — 

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, 
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave. 



Snch fond conceit, half said, half sune, 
love prompted to the bridegroom's 

toiigue. 
All while he stripped the wild-rose 

spray. 
His axe and bow beside him lay. 
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 
A wakeful sentinel he stood. 
Hark ! — on the rock a footstep rung. 
And instant to his arms he sprung. 
"Stand, or thou diest! — What, Malise? 

— soon 
Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. 
By thy keen step and glance I know, 
Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." — 
(For while the Fiery Cross hied on. 
On distant scout had Malise gone.) 
" Where sleeps the Chief?" the hench- 
man said. 
" Apart, in yonder misty glade ; 
To his lone couch I '11 be your guide. " — 
Then called a slumberer by his side, 
And stirred him with his slackened 

bow, — 
" Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho ! 
We seek the Chieftain ; on the track, 
Keep eagle watch till I come back." 



Together up the pass they sped : 
'■ Whatofthefoeman?" Norman said. — 
" Varying reports from near and far ; 
This certain, — that a band of war 
Has for two days been ready boune, 
At prompt command, to march fropi 

Doune ; 
King James, the while, with princely 

powers. 
Holds revelry in Stirling towers. 
Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 
Speak on our glens in thunder loud- 
Inured to bide such bitter bout. 
The warrior's plaid may bear it oiit ; 
But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 
A shelter for thy bonny bride ? " — 
" What ! know ye not that Roderick s 

care 
To the lone isle hath caused repair 
Each maid and matron of the clan. 
And every child and aged man 
Unfit for arms : and given his charge. 
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge. 
Upon these lakes shall float at large. 
Hut all beside the islet moor. 
That such dear pledge may rest se- 



^la*v^ •) ^"^-^^-^ TH£ LADY OF 

XV. j^ 

"'Tis well advised, —the Chieftain's ; 
plan I 

Bespeaks the father of his clan. I 

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 
Apart from all his followers true ? " 
" It is because last evening-tide 
Brian an augury hath tried, 
Of that dread kind which must not be 
Unless in dread extremity, 
Tji e Tagh airm called ; by which, afar, 
Our sires foresaiw the events of war. 
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they 



THE LAKE. 



139 



%j^&<IHa^ 



That, watching while the deer is broke. 
His morsel claims with sullen croak ? " 



MALISE. 

" Ah ! well the gallant brute I knew ! 
The choicest of the prey we had, 
When swept our mern,'men Gallangad. 
His hide was snow, his horns were dark, 
His red eye glowed like fiery spark ; 
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
Sore did he cumber our retreat. 
And kept our stoutest kerns in awe. 
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. 
3ut steep and flinty was the road. 
And sharp the hurrying pikeman'sgoad, 
And when we came to Dennan's Row, 
A child might scathless stroke his 
brow." 



" That bull was slain : his reeking hide 
They stretched the cataract beside, 
Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
Adown the black and craggy boss 
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge 
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. 
Couched on a shelf ^neath its brink. 
Close where the thundering torrents 

sink. 
Rocking beneath their headlong sway, 
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray. 
Midst groan of rock and roar of stream, 
The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
Nor distant rests the Chief ; — but hush ! 
See, gliding slow through mist and bush. 
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands 
To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost. 
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host ? 
; Or raven on the blasted oak. 



" Peace 1 peace ! to other than to me 

Thy words were evil augun.' ; 

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade 

Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid. 

Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or 

hell. 
Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 
The Chieftain joins him, see — and now 
Together they descend the brow." 



And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 
The Hermit Monk held solemn word: — 
" Roderick I it is a fearful strife. 
For man endowed with mortal life. 
Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
Feel feverish pang and fainting chiU, 
Whose eye can stare in stony trance. 
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's 

lance, — 
'T is hard for such to view, unfurled. 
The curtain of the future world. 
Yet, witness every quaking limb, 
My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim, 
My soul with harrowing anguish torn, 
This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — ■ 
The shapes that sought my fearfiii 

couch 
A human tongue may ne'er avouch ; 
No mortal man — save he, who, bred 
Between the living and the dead, 
Is gifted beyond nature's law — 
Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
At length the fatal answer came 
In characters of living flame ! 
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll. 
But borne and branded on my soul : — 
' Which spills the foremost foe-^ 
i man's life, i^ 

That party conquers in thx 
strife." 



i^^A^jt\>l 



" Thanks. Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 
Good is thine augury, and fair. 
Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood, 
But first our broadswords tasted blood. 
A surer victim still I know, 
Scii-oiiwred 10 the auspicious blow : 



4^^^ Vv^'tl/C Crvw-t^^^-^w*^ t^u^uwO 



I40 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



A spy has sought my land this mom, — 
No eve shall witness his return ! 
My followers guard each pass's mouth, 
To east, to westward, and to south ; 
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, 
Has charge to lead his steps aside, 
Till, in deep path or dingle brown, 
He light on those shall bring him down. 
But see, who comes his news to 

show ! 
Malise ! what tidings of the foe ? " 



"At Doune, o'er many a spear and 

glaive 
Two Barons proud their banners wave. 
I saw the Moray's silver star. 
And marked the sable pale of Mar." 
" By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 
I love to hear of worthy foes. 
When move they on?" "To-morrow's 

noon 
Will see them here for battle boune." 
"Then shall it see a meeting stem ! 
But, for the place, — say, couldst thou 

learn 
Naught of the friendly clans of Earn? 
Strengthened by them, we well might 

bide 
The battle on Benledi's side. 
Thou couldst not ? — well ! Clan-Al- 
pine's men 
Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen ; 
Within Loch Katnne'sgorge we '11 fight, 
All in our maids'and matrons' sight. 
Each for his hearth and household fire. 
Father for child, and son for sire, — 
Lover for maid beloved ! — But why — 
Is it the breeze affects mine eye ? 
Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear ! 
A messenger of doubt or fear ? 
No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 
Unfix Benledi from his stance, 
Than doubt or terror can pierce through 
The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ! 
'T is stubborn as his trusty targe. 
Each to his post, — all know their 

charge." 
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance. 
The broadswords gleam, the banners 

dance. 
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. 
I turn me fi-om the martial roar. 
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 



Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone ; 
And Ellen sits on the gray stone 
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
Are poured on her unheeding ear. 
" He will return — Dear lady, trust ! — 
With joy return ; — he will — he must. 
Well was it time to seek, afar. 
Some refuge from impending war. 
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
Are cowed by the approaching storm. 
I saw their boats with many a light. 
Floating the livelong yesternight. 
Shifting like flashes darted forth 
By the red streamers of the north ; 
I marked at morn how close they ride. 
Thick moored by the lone islet's side. 
Like wild ducks couching in the fen. 
When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
Since this rude race dare not abide 
The peril on the main-land side. 
Shall not thy noble father's care 
Some safe retreat for thee prepare? " 



" No, Allan, no ! Pretext so kind 
My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
When in such tender tone, yet grave, 
Douglas a parting blessing gave. 
The tear that glistened in his eye 
Drowned not his purpose fixed on high. 
My soul, though feminine and weak. 
Can image his ; e'en as the lake, 
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke. 
Reflects the invulnerable rock. 
He hears report of battle rife. 
He deems himself the cause of strife. 
I saw him redden, when the theme 
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 
Of Malcolm Grsme in fetters bound, 
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
Think'st thou he trowed thine omen 

aught ? 
O no ! 't was apprehensive thought 
For the kind youth, — for Roderick 

too — 
(Let me be just) that finend so true ; 
In danger both, and in our cause 1 
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
Why else that solemn warning given, 
' If not on earth, we meet in heaven I ' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



141 



Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, 
If eve return him not again, 
Am I to hie, and make me known ? 
Alas I he goes to Scotland's throne, 
Buys his friend's safety with his own ; — 
He goes to do — what I had done. 
Had Douglas' daughter been his 
son 1 " 



*' Nay, lovely Ellen \ — dearest, nay ! 

If aught should his return delay. 

He only named yon holy fane 

As fitting place to meet again. 

Be sure he 's safe ; andforthe Grjeme, — 

Heaven's blessing on his gallant 

name ! — 
My visioned sight may yet prove true, 
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
When did my gifted dream beguile? 
Think of the stranger at tlie isle. 
And think upon the harpings slow. 
That presaged this approaching woe .' 
Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
Would we had left this dismal spot ! 
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. 
Of such a wondrous tale I know — 
Dear lady, change that look of woe. 
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." 

ELLEN. 

" Well, be it as thou wilt ; I bear. 
But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
The Minstrel tried his simple art. 
But distant far was Ellen's heart. 

BALLAD. 
ALICE BRAND. 

Merry it is in the good greenwood, 
When the mavis and merle are sing- 
ing, 
When the deer sweeps by, and the 
hounds are in cry. 
And the hunter's horn is ringing. 

" O Alice Brand, my native land 

Is lost for love of you ; 
And we must hold by wood and wold, 

As outlaws wont to do. 

" O Alice, 't was all for thy locks so 
bright, 
And 't was all for thine eyes so blue, 



That on the night of our luckless flight 
Thy brother bold I slew. 

" Now must I teach to hew the beech 
The hand that held the glaive. 

For leaves to spread our lowly bed. 
And stakes to fence our cave. 

" And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, 
That wont on harp to stray, 

A cloak must shear from the slaughtered 
deer. 
To keep the cold away." 

" O Richard ! if my brother died, 

'T was but a fatal chance ; 
For darkling was the battle tried. 

And fortune sped the lance. 

" If pall and vair no more I wear. 
Nor thou the crimson sheen. 

As warm, we '11 say, is the russet gray. 
As gay the forest-green. 

" And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 

And lost thy native land. 
Still Alice has her own Richard, 

And he his Alice Brand." 



BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'T is merry, 't is merry, in good green- 
wood ; 
So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown 
side. 
Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 

Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 
Who wonned within the hill, — 

Like wind in the porch of a ruined 
church. 
His voicfe was ghostly shrill. 

" Why sounds yon stroke on beech and 

oak, 
' Onr moonlight circle's screen ? 
Or who comes here to chase the deer, 

Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? 
Or who may dare on wold to wear 

The fairies' fatal green ? 

" Up, Urgan, np ! to yon mortal hie, 
' For thou wert christened man , 
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
For muttered word or ban. 

" Lay on him the curse of the withered 
heart, 
The curse of the sleepless eye ; 



7 142 



Q 



THE LADV OF THE LAKE. 



Till he wish and pray that his life would 
part, 
Nor yet find leave to die." 



BALLAD CONTINUED. 

'T IS merry, 't is merry, in good green- 
wood. 
Though the birds have stilled their 
singing ; 
The evening blaze doth Alice raise, 
And Richard is fagots bringing. 

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, 

Before Lord Richard stands. 
And, as he crossed and blessed himself, 
" I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 
" That is made with bloody hands." 

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
That woman void of fear, — 

*' And if there 's blood upon liis hand, 
'Tis but the blood of deer." 

" Now loud thou liest,thouboldof mood 1 

It cleaves unto his hand. 
The stain of thine own kindly blood. 

The blood of Ethert Brand." 

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, 
And made the holy sign, — 

"And if there 's blood on Richard's 
hand, 
A spotless hand is mine. 

*' And I conjure thee, Demon elf, 
By Him whom Demons fear, 

To show us whence thou art thyself, 
And what thine errand here ? " 



BALLAD CONTINUED. 

*' 'Tis merry, 't is merry, in Fairy-land, 
When fairy birds are singing. 

When the court doth ride by their mon- 
arch's side. 
With bit and bridle ringing : 

" And gayly shines the Fairy-land — 

But all is glistening show. 
Like the idle gleam that December's 
beam 

Can dart on ice and snow. 

"And fading, like that varied gleam. 

Is our inconstant shape. 
Who now like knight and lady seem, 

And now like dwarf and ape. 



" It was between the night and day. 
When the Fairy King has power, 
That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
\ And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched 
\ away 

. To the joyless Elfin bower. 

" But wist I of a woman bold. 
Who thrice my brow durst sign, 

I might regain my mortal mold, 
As fair a form as thine." 

She crossed him once — she crossed him 
twice — 

That lady was so brave ; 
The fouler grew his goblin hue, 

The darker grew the cave. 

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 

He rose beneath her hand 
The fairest knight on Scottish Mold, 

Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 

Merry it is in good greenwood. 
When the mavis and merle are sing- 
ing, 
But merrier were they in Dunfermline 
gray. 
When all the bells were ringing. 



Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed, 
A stranger climbed the steepy glade ; 
His martial step, his stately mien, 
His hunting-suit of Lincoln green. 
His eagle glance,remembrance claims — 
'T is Snowdoun's Knight, 't is James 

Fitz- James. 
Ellen beheld as in a dream, 
Then, starting, scarce suppressed a 

scream : 
" O stranger ! in such hour of fear 
What evil hap has brought thee 

here?" 
" An evil hap how can it be. 
That bids me look again on thee ? 
By promise bound, my former guide 
Met me betimes this morning tide. 
And marshalled, over bank and bourne, 
The happy path of my return." 
" The happy path ! — what 1 said he 

naught 
Of war, of battle to be fought, 
Of guarded pass.'" "No, by ni« 

faith ! 
Nor saw I aught could augur scathw '* 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



M3 



" O haste thee, Allan, to the kern : 
Yonder his tartans I discern ; 
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
That he will guide the stranger sure ! — 
What prompted thee, unhappy man ? 
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
Had not been bribed, by love or fear. 
Unknown to him to guide thee here." 

XVII. 

" Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, 
Since it is worthy care from thee ; 
Yet life I hold but idle breath, 
When love or honor 's weighed with 

death. 
Then let me profit by my chance. 
And speak my purpose bold at once. 
I come to bear thee from a wild 
Where ne'er before such blossom 

smiled ; 
By this soft hand to lead thee far 
From frantic scenes of feud and war. 
Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 
They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 
I '11 place thee in a lovely bower, 
I '11 guard thee like a tender flower — " 
" O hush, Sir Knight 1 't were female 

art, 
To say I do not read thy heart ; 
Too much, before, my selfish ear 
Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 
That fatal bait hath lured thee back, 
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ; 
And how, O how, can I atone 
The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 
One way remains — I '11 tell him all — 
Yes ! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! 
But first — my father is a man 
Outlawed and exiled, under ban ; 
The price of blood is on his head, 
With me 't were infamy to wed. 
Still wouldst thou speak ? — then hear 

the truth ! 
FItz-James, there is a noble youth — 
If yet he is ! — exposed for me 
And mine to dread extremity — 
Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 
Forgive, be generous, and depart ! " 

XVIII. 

Fitz-James knew every wily train 

A lady's fickle heart to gain, 

But here he knew and felt them vain. 



There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 
To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 
In maiden confidence she stood, 
Though mantled in her cheek the blood, 
And told her love with such a sigh 
Of deep and hopeless agony, 
As death had sealed her Malcolm's 

doom, 
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye. 
But not with hope fled sympathy. ^ 
He proffered to attend her side, 
As brother would a sister guide. 
" O, little know'st thou Roderick's 

heart ! 
Safer for both we go apart. 
O haste thee, and from Allan learn. 
If thou mayst trust yon wily kern." 
With hand upon his forehead laid. 
The conflict of his mind to shade, 
A parting step or two he made ; 
Then, as some thought had crossed his 

brain, 
He paused, and turned, and came agaiu. 



" Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
It chanced in fight that my poor sword 
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
This ring the grateful Monarch gave, 
And bade, when I had boon to crave, 
To bring it back, and boldly claim 
The recompense that 1 would name. 
Ellen, I am no courtly lord, 
But one who lives by lance and sworc^ 
Whose castle is his helm and shield, 
His lordship the embattled field. 
What from a prince can I demand. 
Who neither reck of state nor land ? 
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine ; 
Each guard and usher knows the sign. 
Seek thou the king without delay ; 
This signet shall secure thy way : 
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, 
As ransom of his pledge to me." 
He placed the golden circlet on. 
Paused — kissed her hand — and then 

was gone. 
The aged Minstrel stood aghast. 
So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 
He joined his guide, and wending dow^ 
The ridges of the mountain brown, 
Across the stream they took their way, 
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 



'44 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



All in the Trosachs' glen was still, 
Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
Sudden his guide whooped loud and 

high — 
" Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? " — 
He stammered forth, " I shout to scare 
Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
He looked — he knew the raven's j^rey, 
His own brave steed: "Ah! gallant gray! 
For thee — for me, perhance — 't were 

well 
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. 
Murdoch, move first — but silently ; 
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die I " 
Jealous and sullen on they fared. 
Each silent, each upon his guard. 

XXI. 

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
Around a precipice's edge, 
When lo ! a wasted female form, 
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 
In tattered weeds and wild array. 
Stood on a cliff beside the way. 
And glancing round her restless eye. 
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky. 
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy. 
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy 

broom ; 
With gesture wild she waved a plume 
Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
To crag and cliff from dusky wing ; 
Such spoils her desperate step had 

sought. 
Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
The tartan plaid she first descried. 
And shrieked till all the rocks replied ; 
As loud she laughed when near they 

drew, 
For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 
And then her hands she wildly wrung. 
And then she wept, and then she sung — 
She sung ! — the voice, in better time, 
Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
And now, though strained and rough- 
ened, still 
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 



They bid me sleep, they bid me pray. 
They say my brain is warped and 
wrung — 



I cannot sleep on Highland brae, 

I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 
But were I now where Allan glides. 
Or heard my native Devan's tides, 
So sweetly would I rest, and pray 
That Heaven would close my wintry 
day ! 

'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid. 
They bade me to the church repair ; 
It was my bridal morn they said. 
And my true love would meet me 
there. 
But woe betide the cruel guile, 
That drowned in blood the morning 

smile ! 
And woe betide the fairy dream I 
I only waked to sob and scream. 



" Who is this maid ? what means her 

lay? 
She hovers o'er the hollow way. 
And flutters wide her mantle gray, 
As the lone heron spreads his wing. 
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." 
" 'T is Blanche of Devan," Murdoch 

said, 
" A crazed and captive Lowland maid, 
1'a'en on the morn she was a bride, 
When Roderick forayed Devan -side. 
The gay bridegroom resistance made. 
And felt our Chiefs unconquered blade. 
I marvel she is now at large. 
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's 

charge. — 
Hence, brain-sick fool ! " — He raised 

his bow : — 
" Now, ifthoustrikest her but one blow, 
I '11 pitch thee from the cliflf as far 
As ever peasant pitched a bar ! " 
" Thanks, champion, thanks 1 " the 

Maniac cried. 
And pressed her to Fitz- James's side. 
" See the gray pennons I prepare. 
To seek my true love through the air ! 
I will not lend that savage groom. 
To break his fall, one downy plume I 
No ! — deep amid disjointed stones. 
The wolves shall batten on his bones, ' 
And then shall his detested plaid. 
By bush and brier in mid-air stayed, 
Wave forth a banner fair and free, 
Meet signal for their revelry." 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



I4S 



I 



XXIV. 

" Hush thee, poor maiden, and be 

still ! " . 

" O ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been, 
But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 
And, though mine ear is all unstrung. 
Still, still It loves the Lowland tongue. 
" For O my sweet William was forester 
true, 
He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 
His coat it was all of the greenwood hue. 
And so blithely he trilled the Low- 
land lay ! 

" It was not that I meant to tell .... 
But thou art wise and guessest well." 
Then, in a low and broken tone, 
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman, fearfully. 
She fixed her apprehensive eye ; 
Then turned it on the Knight, and then 
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 



" The toils are pitched, and the stakes 
are set, 

Ever sing merrily, merrily ; 
The bows they bend, and the knives 
tbey whet. 

Hunters live so cheerily. 
'' It was a stag, a stag often. 

Bearing its branches sturdily ; 
He came stately down the glen, 

Ever sing hardily, hardily. 

" It was there he met with a wounded 
doe. 

She was bleeding deathfuUy ; 
She warned him of the toils below, 

O, so faithfully, faithfully ! 

" He had an eye, and he could heed 

Ever sing warily, warily ; 
He had a foot, and he could speed, — 

Hunters watch so narrowly." 



Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed, 
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost ; 
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought. 
And Blanche's song conviction 

brought. 
Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
But lion of the hunt aware, 



He waved at once his blade on high, 
" Disclose thy treachery, or die ! " 
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew, 
But in his race his bow he drew. 
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast, — 
Murdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed. 
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need : 
With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 
The fierce avenger is behind ! 
Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
The forfeit death — the prize is life ; 
Thy kindred ambush lies before, 
Close couched upon the heathery moor ; 
Them couldst thou reach ! — it may 

not be — 
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt 

see. 
The fiery Saxon gains on thee ! — 
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust. 
As lightning strikes the pine to dust ; 
With foot and hand Fitz-James must 

strain 
Ere he can win his blade again. 
Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye. 
He grimly smiled to see him die ; 
Then slower wended back his way. 
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 



She sat beneath the birchen-tree, 
Her elbow resting on her knee ; 
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft. 
And gazed on it, and feebly laughed ; 
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, 
Daggled with blood, beside her lay. 
The Knight to stanch the life-stream 

tried, — 
" Stranger, it is in vain ! " she cried. 
" This hour of death has given me 

more 
Of reason's power than years before ; 
For, as these ebbing veins decay, 
My frenzied visions fade away. 
A helpless injured wretch I die. 
And something tells me in thine eye 
That thou wert mine avenger born. 
Seest thou this tress ? — O, still I 've 

worn 
This little tress of yellow hair. 
Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! 
It once was bright and clear as thine. 
But blood and tears have dimmed its 

shine. 



146 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



I will not tell thee when 't was shred, 
Nor from whatguiltless victim's head, — 
My brain would turn ! — but it shall 

wave 
Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain. 
And thou wilt bring it me again. 
I waver still. — O God ! more bright 
Let reason beam her parting light ! — 
O, by thy knighthood's honored sign. 
And for thy life preserved by mine. 
When thou shalt see a darksome man, 
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, 
With tartans broad and shadowy plume. 
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, 
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's 

wrong ! — 
They watch for thee by pass and fell .... 
Avoid the path . . . . O God I . . . . fare- 

weU." 



A kindly heart had brave Fitz- James ; 
Fast poured liis eyes at pity's claims ; 
And now, with mingled grief and ire, 
He saw the murdered maid expire. 
" God, in my need, be my relief. 
As I wreak this on yonder Chief ! " 
A lock from Blanche's tresses iair 
He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 
The mingled braid in blood he dyed. 
And placed it on his bonnet-side : 
" By Him whose word is truth ! I swear, 
No other favor will I wear, 
Till this sad token I imbrue 
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu ! — 
But hark ! what means yon faint halloo ? 
The chase is up, — but they shall know, 
The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe." 
Barred from the known butguarded way. 
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James 

must stray. 
And oft must change his desperate 

track, 
By stream and precipice turned back. 
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 
From lack of food and loss of strength, 
He couched him in a thicket hoar, 
And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 
" Of all my rash adventures past, 
This frantic feat must prove the last ! 
Who e'er so mad but might have guessed, 
That all this Highland hornet's nest 



Would muster up in swarm* s<i soon 
Ase'erthey heardof bands atDounc? — 
Like bloodhounds now they search me 

out, — 
Hark, to the whistle and the shout ! — 
If farther through the wilds I go, 
I only fall upon the foe : 
I '11 couch me here till evening gray. 
Then darkling try my dangerous way." 



The shades of eve come slowly down. 
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, 
The owl awakens from her dell, 
The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
Enough remains of glimmering light 
To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 
Yet not enough from far to show 
His figure to the watchful foe. 
With cautious step, and ear awake. 
He climbs the crag and threads the 

brake ; 
And not the summer solstice, there, 
Tempered the midnight mountain air. 
But every breeze, that swept the wold. 
Benumbed hisdrenched limbs with cold. 
In dread, in danger, and alone. 
Famished and chilled, through ways 

unknown. 
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on ; 
Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 
A watch-lire close before him burned. 



Beside its embers red and clear. 
Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer : 
And up hesprungwith sword in hand, — 
" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, 

stand ! " 
"A stranger." " What dost thou re- 
quire ? " 
*' Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
My life 's beset, my path is lost. 
The gale has chilled my limbs with 

frost." 
" Art thou a friend to Roderick ? " 

" No." 
" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ?" 
" I dare ! to him and all the band 
He brings to aid his murderous hand." 
Bold words ! — but, though the beast 

of game 
The privilege of chase may claim. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



M7 



Though space and law the stag we lend, 
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend. 
Who ever recked, where, how, or when, 
The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? 
Thustreacherousscouts, — yet sure they 

lie, 
Who say thou earnest a secret spy ! " — 
" They do, by heaven ! — Come Rod- 
erick Dhu, 
And of his clan the boldest two, 
And let me but till morning rest, 
I write the falsehood on their crest." 
" If by the blaze I mark aright, 
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of 

Knight." 
"Then by these tokens mayst tliou 

know 
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." 
" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 

XXXI. 

He gave him of his Highland cheer, 
The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; 
Dry fuel on the fire he laid, 
And bade the Saxon share his plaid. 
He tended him like welcome guest. 
Then thus his further speech ad- 
dressed : — 
" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 



Each word against his honor spoke 
Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is said, 
A mighty augury is laid. 
It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
It rests with me, here, brand to brand. 
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, 
Will I depart from honor's laws : 
To assail a wearied man were shame. 
And stranger is a holy name ; 
Guidance and rest, and food and fire. 
In vain he never must require. 
Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 
Myself will guide thee on the way. 
O'er stock and stone, through watch 

and ward. 
Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 
From thence thy warrant is thy sword." 
" I take thy courtesy, by heaven, 
As freely as 't is nobly given ! " 
" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 
With that he shookthe gathered heath. 
And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 
And the brave foemen, side by side. 
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, 
And slept until the dawning beam 
Purpled the mountain and the stream. 



CANTO FIFTH. 

THE COMBAT. 



Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 

When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied. 
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night. 

And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide,' 
And lights the fearful path on mountain-side ; — 

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, 
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star. 
Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War. 



That early beam, so fair and sheen, 
Was twinkling through the hazel screen. 
When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
The warriors left their lowly bed, 
Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
Muttered their soldier matins by. 



And then awaked their fire, to steal, 
As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael around him threw 
His graceful plaid of varied hue. 
And, true to promise, led the way, 
By thicket green and mountain gray. 
A wildering path I — they winded now 



b 



148 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Along the precipice's brow, 
Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
And all the vales between that lie, 
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
Then, sunk in copse, theirfarthest glance 
Gained not the length of horseman's 

lance. 
'T was oft so steep, the foot was fain 
Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
So tangled oft, that, bursting through, 
Each hawthorn shed her showers of 

dew, — 
That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
It rivals all but Beauty's tear 1 



At length they came where, stem and 

steep. 
The hill sinks down upon the deep. 
Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
Ever the hollow path twined on, 
Beneath steep bank and threatening 

stone ; 
An hundred men might hold the post 
With hardihood against a host. 
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak. 
With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
And patches bright of bracken green, 
And heather black, that waved so high, 
It held the copse in rivalry. 
But where the lake slept deep and still, 
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 
And oft both path and hill were torn. 
Where wintry torrents down had borne, 
And heaped upon the cumbered land 
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
So toilsome was the road to trace. 
The guide, abating of his pace, 
Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 
And asked Fitz-James, by what strange 

cause 
He sought these wilds, traversed by 

few. 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 



" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried. 
Hangs m my belt, and by my side ; 
Yet, sooth to tell," the Snxon said, 
*' I dreamt not now to claim its aid. 



When here, but three days since, I came, 
Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
All seemed as peaceful and as still, 
As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, 
Nor soon expected back from war. 
Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide, 
Though deep perchance the villain lied." 
" Yet why a second venture try ? " 
" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
Moves our free course by such fixed 

cause. 
As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
A knight'sfree footsteps far and wide, — 
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed, 
The merry glance of mountain maid : 
Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
The danger's self is lure alone." 

V. 
" Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — 
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot. 
Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war. 
Against Clan- Alpine, raised by Mar ? " 
""No, by my word ; — of bands pre- 
pared 
To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
This muster of the mountaineer. 
Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
Which else in Doune had peaceful 

hung." 
" Free be they flung ! for we were loath 
Their silken folds should feast the 

moth. 
Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 
Bewildered in the mountain game. 
Whence the bold boast by which you 

show 
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?" 
" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick 

Dhu, 
Save as an outlawed desperate man, 
The chief of a rebellious clan, 
Who, in the Regent's court and sight. 
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight ; 
Yet this alone might from his part 
Sever each true and loyal heart." 



»'l./t-1--C.-t/-^J*.«*-*- Tf •' ' 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. f 



149 



Wrathful at such arraignment foul, 
Dark lowered the clansman's sable 

scowl. 
A space he paused, then sternly said, 
" And heard'st thou why he drew his 

blade ? 
Heard'st thou, that shameful word and 

blow 
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his 

foe? 
What recked the Chieftain if he stood 
On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood? 
He rights such wrong where it is given. 
If it were in the court of heaven." 
" Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is true, 
/ Not then claimed sovereignty his due ; 
' While Albany, with feeble hand, 
Held borrowed truncheon of command, 
The young King, mewed in Stirling 

tower, 
Was stranger to respect and power. 
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 
Winning mean prey by causeless strife, 
Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain 
His herds and harvest reared in vain. 
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 
The spoils from such foul foray borne." 



"Jie Gael beheld him grim the while, 
/ind answered with disdainful smile : 
" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
I marked thee send delighted eye 
Far to the south and east, where lay, 
Extended in succession gay. 
Deep waving fields and pastures green. 
With gentle slopes and groves be- 
tween : — 
These fertile plains, that softened vale, 
Were once the birthright of the Gael : 
The stranger came with iron hand. 
And from our fathers reft the land. 
Where dwell we now ? See, rudely swell 
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
Ask we this savage hill we tread. 
For fattened steer or household bread ; 
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry. 
And well the mountain might reply, — 
' To you, as to your sires of yore, 
Belong the target and claymore ! 
I give you shelter in my breast, 
Yourowngoodbladesraustwin the rest.' 



Pent in this fortress of the North, 
Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 
To spoil the spoiler as we may, 
And from the robber rend the prey ? 
Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
While, of ten thousand herds, there 

strays 
But one along yon river's maze, — 
The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his 

share. / 

Where live the mountain Chiefs who 

hold - 1, f^ 

That plundering Lowland field and fold ^^^^ 
Is aught but retribution true ? 
Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick 

Dhu" 



Answered Fitz-James : " And, if I 

sought, 
Think'st thouno other could be brought? 
What deem ye of my path waylaid? 
My life given o'er to ambuscade ? " 
" As of a meed to rashness due : 
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 
I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 
I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 
Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 
But secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 
Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to 

die, 
Save to fulfil an augury." 
" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 
Fresh cause of enmity avow. 
To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
Enough, I am by promise tied 
To match me with this man of pride : 
Twice have I sought Clan- Alpine's glen 
In peace ; but when I come again, 
I come with banner, brand, and bow, 
As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 
As I, until before me stand 
This rebel Chieftain and his band ! " 



" Have, then, thy wish ! " — He whis- 
tled shrill. 
And he was answered from the hill ; 



ISO 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



W:ld as the scream of the curlew, 
From crag to crag the signal flew. 
Instant, through copse and lieath, arose 
Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 
On right, on left, above, below. 
Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
From shingles gray their lances start, 
The bracken bush sends forth the dart, 
The rushes and the willow-wand 
Are bristling into axe and brand, 
And every tuft of broom gives life 
To plaided warrior armed for strife. 
That whistle garrisoned the glen 
At once with full five hundred men. 
As if the yawning hill to heaven 
A subterranean host had given. 
Watching their leader's beck and will, 
All silent there they stood, and still. 
Like the loose crags whose ihreatening 

mass 
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
As if an infant's touch could urge 
Their headlong passage down the verge, 
With step and weapon forward flung, 
Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 
Along Benledi's living side, 
Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
Full on Fitz-James: " How say'st thou 

now? 
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 
And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu I " 



Fitz-James was brave : — Though to 

his heart 
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start. 
He manned himself with dauntless air, 
I^eiurned the Chief his haughty stare. 
His back against a rock he bore, 
And firmly placed his foot before : — 
" Come one, come all ! this rock shall fly 
From its firm base as soon as L" 
Sir Roderick marked, — and in his eyes 
Respect was mingled with surprise. 
And the stem joy which warriors feel 
In foemen worthy of their steel. 
Short space he stood — then waved his 

hand : 
Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
Each warrior vanished where he stood. 
In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, 
In osiers pale and copses low ; 



It seemed as if their mother Earth 
Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
The wind's last breath had tossed in 

air 
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 
The next but swept a lone hillside, 
Where heath and fern were waving 

v^'ide : 
The sun's last glance was glinted back, 
From spear and glaive, from targe and 

jack, — 
The next, all unreflected, shone 
On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 



Fitz-James looked round, — yet scarce 

believed 
The witness that his sight received; 
Such apparition well might seem 
Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 
And to his look the Chief replied : 
"Fear naught — nay, that 1 need not 

say — 
But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my 

word 
As far as Coilantogle ford : 
Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
For aid against one valiant hand, 
Though on our strife lay every vale 
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
So move we on ; — I only meant 
To show the reed on which you leant. 
Deeming this path you might pursue 
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 
They moved ; — I said Fitz-James was 

brave. 
As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
Yet dare not say, that now his blood 
Kept on its wont and tempered flood, 
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
That seeming lonesome pathway 

through. 
Which yet, by fearfial proof, was rife 
With lances, that, to take his life. 
Waited but signal from a guide, 
So late dishonored and defied. 
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians of the ground, 
And still, from copse and heather deep 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peejv 
And in the plover's shrilly strain 
The signal whistle heard again. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



»5i 



Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
IVhere neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
tJor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 



The Chief in silence strode before, 
Aind reached that torrent's sounding 

shore, 
IVhich. daughter of three mighty lakes. 
From Vennachar in silver breaks, 
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless 

mines 
On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 
Where Rome, the Empress of the world, 
Of yore her eagle wings unfurled. 
And here his course the Chieftain stayed. 
Threw down his target and his plaid, 
And to the Lowland warrior said : 
" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. 
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, 
This head of a rebellious clan. 
Hath led thee safe, through watch and 

ward, 
Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 
Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
See, here, all vantageless I stand. 
Armed, like thyself, with single brand : 
For this is Coilantogle ford. 
And thou must keep thee with thy 

sword." 



The Saxon paused : " I ne'er delayed. 
When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy 

death ; 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
And my deep debt for life preserved, 
A better meed have well deserved : 
Cah naught but blood our feud atone? 
Are there no means'"' "No, Stranger, 

none ! 
And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel ; 
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 
Between the living and the dead ; 
' Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
His party conquers in the strife.' " 



" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 
" The riddle is already read. 
Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, 
Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
To James, at Stirling, let us go. 
When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
Or if the King shall not agree 
To grant thee grace and favor free, 
I plight mine honor, oath, and word 
That, to thy native strengths restored. 
With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
That aids thee now to guard thy land." 



Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's 

eye : 
" Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
Because a wretched kern ye slew. 
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
Notyet prepared? — Byheaven, I change 
My thought, and hold thy valor light 
As that of some vain carpet knight. 
Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
And whose best boast is but to wear 
A braid of his fair lady's hair." 
" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
For I have sworn this braid to stain 
In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, be- 
gone ! — 
Yet think not that by thee alone, 
Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown ; 
Though not from copse, or heath, or 

cairn. 
Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
Of this small horn one feeble blast 
Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
But fear not — doubt not — which thou 

wilt — 
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." 
Then each at once his falchion drew, 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and 

plain, 
As what they ne'er might see again ; 
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 



152 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw, 
Whose brazen studs and toughbull-hide 
Had death so often dashed aside ; 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James'sbladewassvvordandshield. 
He practised every pass and ward. 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood. 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank 

blood ; 
No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
Tiie gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
And showered his blows like wintry 

rain ; 
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof. 
Against the winter shower is proof, 
The foe, invulnerable still. 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his 

hand. 
And backward borne upon the lea. 
Brought the proud Chieftain to his 
knee. 



" Now yield thee, or by Him who 

made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my 

blade ! " 
" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 
Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-cat who guards her 

young. 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; 
Received, but recked not of a wound. 
And locked his arms his foeman 

round. 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand isroundthee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might 

feel 
Through bars of brass and triple steel! 
They tug, they strain 1 down, down 

they go. 
The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 



The Chieftain's gripe his throat com- 
pressed. 
His knee was planted on his breast , 
His clotted locks he backward threw, 
Across his brow his hand he drew. 
From blood and mist to clear his sight, 
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 
But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
And all too late the advantage came, 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleamed on high, 
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and 

eye. 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erringbladefound bloodlesssheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 
Un wounded from the dreadful close, 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 



He faltered thanks to Heaven for life. 
Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate 

strife ; 
Next on his foe his look he cast. 
Whose every gasp appeared his last ;, 
In Roderick's gore he dipped the 

braid, — 
" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dear- 
ly paid : 
Yet with thy foe must die, or live, 
The praise that faith and valor give." 
With that he blew a bugle note, 
Undid the collar from his throat, 
Unbonneted, and by the wave 
Sat down his brow and bands to lave. 
Then faint afar are heard the feet 
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 
The sounds increase, and now are seen 
Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; 
Two who bear lance, and two who 

lead. 
By loosened rein, a saddled steed ; 
Each onward held his headlong course. 
And by Fitz-James reined up his 

horse, — 
With wonder viewed the bloody spot,— 
" Exclaim not, gallants ! question not, 
You, Herbert and Lufihess, alight, 
And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 
Let the gray palfrey bear his weight, 
We destined for a fairer freight, _ 
And bring him on to Stirhng straight ; 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



153 



1 will before at better speed, 
To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
The sun rides high ; — I must be boune, 
To see the archef game at noon ; 
But lightly Bayard clears the lea. 
De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 



" Stand, Bayard, stand !" — the steed 

obeyed, 
With arching neck and bended head, 
And glancing eye and quivering ear, 
As if he loved his lord to hear. 
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, 
No grasp upon the saddle laid, 
But wreathed his left hand in the mane, 
And lightly bounded from the plain. 
Turned on the horse his armed heel. 
And stirred his courage with the steel. 
Bounded the fiery steed in air, 
The rider sat erect and fair, 
Then like a bolt from steel crossbow 
Forth launched, along the plain they go. 
They dashed that rapid torrent tiirough, 
And up Carhonie's hill they flew ; 
Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, 
His merrymen followed as they might. 
Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they ride. 
And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
Torry and Lendricii now are past. 
And Deanstown lies behind them cast ; 
They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, 
They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike 

fire. 
They sweep like breeze through Ochter- 

tyre ; 
They mark just glance and disappear 
The lofty brow of ancient Kier ; 
They bathe their coursers' sweltering 

sides, 
Dark Forth ! amid thy sluggish tides. 
And on the opposing shore take ground. 
With plash, with scramble, and with 

bound. 
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig- 

Forth ! 
And soon the bulwark of the North, 
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, 
Upon their fleet career looked down. 



As up the flinty path they strained. 
Sudden his steed the leader reined ; 



A signal to his squire he flung. 

Who instant to his stirrup sprung : — 

" Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman 

gray, 
Who town-ward holds the rocky way. 
Of stature tall and poor array ? 
Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, 
With which he scales the mountain-side.' 
Know'st thou from whence he comes, 

or whom ? " 
" No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
He seems, who in the field or chase 
A baron's train would nobly grace — " 
" Out, out, De Vaux ! can fear supply, 
And jealousy, no sliarper eye ? 
Afar, ere to the hill he drew. 
That stately form and step I knew ; 
Like form in Scotland is not seen, 
Treads not such step on Scottish green. 
'Tis James of Douglas by Saint Serle ! 
The uncle of the banished Earl. 
Away, away, to court, to show 
The near approach of dreaded foe : 
The King must stand upon his guard ; 
Douglas and he must meet prepared." 
Then right-hand wheeled their steeds, 

and straight 
They won the castle's postern gate. 



The Douglas, who had bent his way 
From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, 
Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf. 
Held sad communion with himself: — 
" Yes ! all is true my fears could frame ; 
A prisoner lies the noble Grsme, 
And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
The vengeance of the royal steel. 
I, only I, can ward their fate, — 
God grant the ransom come not late ! 
The abbess hath her promise given, 
My child shall be thebrideof heaven ; — 
Be pardoned one repining tear ! 
For He, who gave her, knows how 

dear, 
How excellent ! — but that is by, 
And now my business is — to die. 
Ye towers ! within whose circuit dread 
A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 
And thou, O sad and fatal mound ! 
That oft hast heard the death-axesound, 
As on the noblest of the land 
Fell the stern headsman's bloody 

hand, — 



154 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 
Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom ! 
But hark ! what blithe and jolly peal 
Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ? 
And see ! upon the crowded street, 
In motley groups what masquers meet ! 
Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, 
And merry morrice-dancers come. 
I guess, by all this quaint array. 
The burghers hold their sports to-day. 
Jaineswill be there; he loves such show. 
Where the good yeoman bends his bow, 
And the tough wrestler foils his foe, 
As well as where, in proud career, 
The high-born tilter shivers spear. 
I '11 follow to the Castle-park, 
And play my prize ; — King James 

shall mark" — 
If age has tamed these sinews stark. 
Whose force so oft, in happier days. 
His boyish wonder loved to praise." 



The Castle gates were open flung. 
The quivering drawbridge rocked and 

rung. 
And echoed loud the flinty street 
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, 
As slowly down the steep descent 
Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 
While all along the crowded way 
Was jubilee and loud huzzah. 
And ever James was bending low, 
To his white jennet's saddlebow. 
Doffing his cap to city dame, 
Who smiled and blushed for pride and 

shame. 
And well the simperer might be vain, — 
He chose the fairest of the train. 
Gravely he greets each city sire. 
Commends each pageant'squaint attire, 
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, 
And smiles and nods upon the crowd. 
Who rend the heavens with their ac- 
claims, — 
" Long live the Commons' King, King 

James ! " 
Behiad the King thronged peer and 

knight, 
And noble dame and damsel bright, 
Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay 
Of the steep street and crowded way. 
But in the train you might discern 
Dark lowering brow and visage stern ; 



There nobles mourned their pride re-. 

strained, 
And the mean burgher's joys disdained ; 
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, 
Were each from home a banished man. 
There thought upon their own gray 

tower. 
Their waving woods, their feudal power, 
Anddeemed themselvesa shameful part 

. Of pageant which they curged In, heart. 

-■- ■ - /y.' ■• -,.,-A 

Now, in the Castle-park, drew but 
Their checkered bands the joyous rout. 
There morricers, with bell at heel, 
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; 
But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
Bold Robin Hood and all his band, — 
Fnar Tuck with quarterstaff and cow', 
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, 
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone. 
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
Their bugles challenge all that will, 
In archery to prove their skill. 
The Douglas bent a bow of might, — 
His first shaft centred in the white, 
And when in turn he shot again. 
His second split the first in twain. 
From the King's hand must Douglas 

take 
A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 
Fondly he watched, with watery eye. 
Some answering glance of sympathy, — 
No kind emotion made reply ! 
Indifferent as to archer wight. 
The monarch gave the arrow brigh^. 
'''■,■ • ' .1 /^fi 

Now, clear the i-in^rfef, nana to hand, 
The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
Two o'er the rest superior rose. 
And proud demanded mightier foes, 
Nor called in vain ! for Douglas came. 
— For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, 
Whom senseless home his comrades 

bare. 
Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
To Douglas gave a golden ring, 
While coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
As frozen drop of wintry dew. 
Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
His struggling soul his words sup- 
pressed ; 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



I5S 



Indignant then he turned him where 
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 
To hurl the massive bar in air. 
When each his utmost strength had 

shown, 
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
From its deep bed, then heaved it high. 
And sent the fragment through the sky, 
A rood beyond the farthest mark ; 
And still in Stirling's royal park, 
Ihe gray-haired sires, who know the past. 
To strangers point the Douglas cast. 
And moralize on the decay 
Of Scottish strength in modern day. 



The vale with loud applauses rang. 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
I'he King, withlook unmoved, bestowed 
A purse well filled with pieces broad. 
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, 
And threw the gold among the crowd. 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan. 
And sharper glance, the dark gray man ; 
Till whispers rose among the throng, 
That heart so free, and hand so strong, 
Must to the Douglas blood belong ; 
The old men marked and shook the head, 
To see his hair with silver spread. 
And winked aside, and told each son 
Of feats upon the English done. 
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land. 
The women praised his stately form. 
Though wrecked by many a winter's 

storm ; 
The youth with awe and wonder saw 
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
Thus judged, as is their wont, I he crowd, 
Till murmur rose to clamors loud. 
But not a glance from that proud ring 
Of peers who circled round the King, 
With Douglas held communion kind. 
Or called the banished man to mind ; 
No, not froi.. those who, at the chase. 
Once held his side the honored place, 
Begirt his board, and, in the field, 
Found safety underneath his shield ; 
For he, whom royal eyes disown. 
When was his form to courtiers known ! 

XXV. 

The Monarch saw the gambols flag, 
And bade let loose a gallant stag, 



Whose pride, the holiday to crown, 
Two favorite greyhounds should pull 

down, 
That venison free, and Bordeaux wine, 
Might serve the archery to dine. 
But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth. 
She left the royal hounds midway. 
And dashing on the antlered prey, 
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank. 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
The K ing's stout huntsman saw the sport 
By strange intruder broken short, 
Came up, and, with his leash unbound, 
In anger struck the noble hound. 
The Douglas had endured, that mom. 
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, 
And last, and worst to spirit proud, 
Had borne the pity of the crowd; 
But Lufra had been fondly bred, 
To share his board, to watch his bed. 
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 
In maiden glee with garlands deck; 
They were such playmates, that with 

name 
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 
His stifled wrath is brimming high, 
In darkened brow and flashing eye ; 
As waves before the bark divide. 
The crowd gave way before his stride; 
Needs but a buffet and no more. 
The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
Such blow no other hand could deal. 
Though gauntleted in glove of steel. 

XXVI. 

Then clamored loud the royal train. 
And brandished swords and staves 

amain, 
But stern the Baron's warning : " Back I 
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
Beware the Douglas. — Yes ! behold. 
King James ! The Douglas, doomed 

of old. 
And vainly sought for near and far, 
A victim to atone the war, 
A willing victim, now attends, 
Nor craves thy grace but for his 

friends — " 
" Thus is my clemency repaid ? 
Presumptuous Lord!" the Monarch 

said : 



156 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



" Of thy misproud ambitious clan, 
Thou, James of Bothwell,wert the man, 
The only man, in whom a foe 
My woman-mercy would not know : 
But shall a Monarch's presence brook 
Injurious blow, and haughty look ! — 
What ho ! the Captain of our Guard ! 
Give the offender fitting ward. — 
Break off the sports ! " — for tumult rose, 
And yeomen 'gantobend their bows, — 
" Break off the sports ! " he said, and 

frowned, 
"And bid our horsemen clear the 

ground." 



Then uproar wild and misarray 
Marred the fair form of festal day. 
The horsemen pricked among the crowd, 
Repelled by threats and insult loud ; 
To earth are borne the old and weak, 
The timorous fly, the women shriek ; 
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with 

bar. 
The hardier urge tumultuous war. 
At once round Douglas darkly sweep 
The royal spears in circle deep, 
And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 
While on the rear in thunder pour 
The rabble with disordered roar. 
With grief the noble Douglas saw 
The Commons rise against the law, 
And to the leading soldier said : 
" SirJohnofHyndford! 'twasmy blade. 
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 
For that good deed, permit me then 
A word with these misguided men. 



" Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet for me, 
Ye break the bands of fealty. 
My life, my honor, and my cause, 
I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
Are these so weak as must require 
The aid of your misguided ire? 
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong. 
Is then my selfish rage so strong. 
My sense of public weal so low. 
That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 
Those cords of love I should unbind. 
Which knit my country and my kind? 
O no ! Believe, in j'onder tower 
It will not soothe my captive hour, 



To know those spears our foes should 

dread. 
For me in kindred gore are red : 
To know, in fruitless brawl begun. 
For me, that mother wails her son ; 
For me, that widow's mate expires ; 
For me, that orphans weep their sires ; 
That patriots mourn insulted laws, 
And curse the Douglas for the cause. 
O let your patience ward such ill. 
And keep your right to love me still 1 " 



The crowd's wild fury sunk again 
In tears, as tempests melt in rain. 
With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed 
For blessings on his generous head. 
Who for his country felt alone. 
And prized her blood beyond his own. 
Old men, upon the verge of life. 
Blessed him who stayed the civil strife ; 
And mothers held their babes on high. 
The self-devoted Chief to spy. 
Triumphant over wrongs and ire. 
To whom the prattlers owed a sire : 
Even the rough soldier's heart was 

moved ; 
As if behind some bier beloved. 
With trailing arms and drooping head. 
The Douglas up the hill he led. 
And at the Castle's battled verge. 
With sighs resigned his honored charge. 



The offended Monarch rode apart, 
With bitter thought and swelling heartj 
And would not now vouchsafe again 
Through Stirling streets to lead his train. 
" O Lennox, who would wish to rule 
This changeling crowd, this common 

fool? 
Hear' St thou," he said, "the loud ac- 
claim, 
With which they shout the Douglas 

name ? 
With like acclaim, the vulgar throat 
Strained for King James their morning 

note ; 
With like acclaim they hailed the day. 
When first I broke the Douglas' sway; 
And like acclaim would Douglas greet 
If he could hurl me from my seat. 
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, 
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and v^ain 1 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



IS7 



Vain as the leaf upon the stream. 
And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
Fantastic as a woman's mood, 
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster-thing, 
O who would wish to be thy king ! 



" But soft ! what messenger of speed 
Spurs hitherward his panting steed? 
I guess his cognizance afar — 
What from our cousin, John of Mar ? 
" He prays, my liege, your sports keep 

bound 
Within the safe and guarded ground ; 
For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 
Most sure for evil to the throne, — 
The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
Has summoned his rebellious crew; 
* T is said, in James of Bothwell's aid 
These loose banditti stand arrayed. 
The Earl of Mar, thismorn, from Doune, 
To break their muster marched, and soon 
Your Grace will hear of battle fougiit ; 
But earnestly the Earl besought, 
Till for such danger he provide, 
With scanty train you will not ride." 



"Thouwarn'st me Ihavedoneamiss, — 
I should have earlier looked to this : 
I lost it in this bustling day. 
— Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
We do forbid the intended war ; 
Roderick, this morn, in single fight, 
Was made our prisoner by a knight ; 



And Douglas hath himself and cause 
Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
The tidings of their leaders lost 
Will soon dissolve the mountain host, 
Nor would we that the vulgar feel, 
Fortheir Chiefs crimes, avenging steel. 
Bear Mar our message, Braco ; fly ! ' 
He turned his steed, — " My liege- I 

hie, — 
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 
The turf the flying courser spurned, 
And to his towers the King returned. 



Ill with King James's mood that day, 
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng. 
And soon cut short the festal song. 
Nor less upon the saddened town 
The evening sunk in sorrow down. 
The burghers spoke of civil jar, 
Of rumored feuds and mountain war, 
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
All up in arms : — the Douglas too. 
They mourned him pent within the hold, 
" Where stout Earl William was ofold." 
And there his word the speaker stayed. 
And finger on his lip he laid, 
Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
But jaded horsemen, from the west, 
At evening to the Castle pressed ; 
And busy talkers said they bore 
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore ; 
At noon the deadly fray begun. 
And lasted till the set of sun. 
Thus giddy rumor shook the town, 
Till closed the Night her pennons 
brown. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



THE GUARD-ROOM. 



The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, 

Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 

Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, 

And warning student pale to leave his pen. 
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men. 



1S8 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



What various scenes, and O, what scenes of woe, 

Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam I 
The fevered patient, from his pallet low. 

Through crowded hospital beholds its stream ; 
The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam. 

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 
The lovelorn wretch starts from tormenting dream ; 

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, 
Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail. 



At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 
While drums, with rolling note, foretell 
Relief to weary sentinel. 
Through narrow loop and casement 

barred. 
The sunbeams sought the Court of 

Guard, 
And, struggling through the smoky air, 
Deadened the torches' yellow glare. 
In comfortless alliance shone 
The lights through arch of blackened 

stone. 
And showed wild shapes in garb of war. 
Faces deformed with beard and scar, 
All haggard from the midnight watch. 
And fevered with the stem debauch ; 
For the oak table's massive board. 
Flooded with wine, with fragments 

stored. 
And beakers drained, and cups o'er- 

thrown. 
Showed in what sport the night had 

flown. 
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
Some labored still their thirst to quench ; 
Some, chilled with watching, spread 

their hands 
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands. 
While round them, or beside them flung. 
At every step their harness rung. 



These drew not for their fieldsthe sword. 
Like tenants of a feudal lord. 
Nor owned the patriarchal claim 
Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; 
Adventurers they, from far who roved. 
To live by battle which they loved. 
There the Italian's clouded face, 
The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 
The mountain-loving Switzer there 
More freely breathed in mountain-air ; 



The Fleming there despised the soil, 
That paid so ill the laborer's toil ; 
Their rolls showed French and German 

name : 
And merr)' England's exiles came, 
To share, with ill-concealed disdain, 
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
All brave in arms, well trained to wield 
The heavy halberd, brand, and shield ; 
In camps licentious, wild, and bold; 
In pillage fierce and uncontrolled ; 
And now, by holytide and feast, 
From rules of disciphne released. 



They held debate of bloody fi"ay, 
Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. 
Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their 

words. 
Their hands oftgrappledto theirswords; 
Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 
Of wounded comrades groaning near. 
Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, 
Bore token of the mountain sword, 
Though, neighboring to the Court of 

Guard, 
Their prayers and feverish wails were 

heard ; 
Sad burden to the ruffian joke. 
And savage oath by fury spoke ! — 
At length up started John of Brent, 
A yeoman from the banks of Trent ; 
A stranger to respect or fear. 
In peace a chaser of the deer. 
In host a hardy mutineer. 
But still the boldest of the crew, 
When deed of danger was to do. 
He grieved, that day, their games cut 

short. 
And marred the dicer's brawling sport. 
And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl ! 
And, while a merry catch I troll. 
Let each the buxom chorus bear, 
Like brethren of the brand and ipear." 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



159 



SOLDIER S SONG. 

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 

Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, 

That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, 

And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack; 

Yet whoop, Barnaby ! off with thy liquor. 

Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar I 

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 

The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, 

Says that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly. 

And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye ; 

Yet whoop, Jack ! kiss Gilian the quicker. 

Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar ! 

Our vicar thus preaches, — and why should he not T 
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot ; 
And 't is right of his office poor laymen to lurch. 
Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. 
Yet whoop, bully-boys ! off with your liquor. 
Sweet Marjorie 's the word, and a fig for the vicar ! 



The warder's challenge, heard without, 
Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. 
A soldier to the portal went, — 
"Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; 
And, — beat for jubilee the drum ! 
A maid and minstrel with him come." 
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, 
Was entering now the Court of Guard, 
A harper with him, and in plaid 
All muffled close, a mountain maid. 
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 
" What news ? " they roared : — "I 

only know, 
Fiom noon till eve we fought with foe, 
As wild and as untamable 
As the rude mountains where they dwell; 
On both sides store of blood is lost, 
Nor much success can either boast." — 
"But whence thy captives, friend ? such 

spoil 
As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 
Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; 
Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 
Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 
The leader of a juggler band." 



"No, comrade; — no such fortune mine. 
After the fight these sought our line, 



That aged harper and the girl. 
And, having audience of the Earl, 
Mar bade I should purvey them steed, 
And bring them hitherward with speed. 
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm. 
For none shall do them shame or 

harm — " 
" Hear ye his boast?" cried John of 

Brent, 
Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 
" Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, 
And yet the jealous niggard grudge 
To pay the forester his fee ? 
I '11 have my share howe'er it be, 
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." 
Bertram his forward step withstood ; 
And, burning in his vengeful mood. 
Old Allan, though unfit for strife. 
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ; 
But Ellen boldly stepped between. 
And dropped at once the tartan screr'n : — 
So, from his mourning cloud, appears 
The sun of May through summer tears. 
The savage soldiery, amazed. 
As on descended angel gazed ; 
Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, 
Stood half admiring, half ashamed. 



Boldly she spoke : " Soldiers, attend I 
My father was the soldier's friend ; 



i6o 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



Cheered him in camps, in marches led, 
And with him in the battle bled. 
Not from the valiant, or the strong, 
Should exile's daughter suffer vvrong.''_ 
Answered De Brent, most forward still 
In every feat or good or ill : 
" I shame me of the part I played : 
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid ! 
An outlaw I by forest laws, 
And merry Needwood knows the cause. 
Poor Rose, — if Rose be living now," — 
He wiped his iron eye and brow, — 
" Must bear such age, I think, as thou. 
Hear ye, my mates ; — I go to call 
The Captain of our watch to hall : 
There lies my halberd on the floor ; 
And he that steps my halberd o'er, 
To do the maid injurious part, 
My shaft shall quiver in his heart ! 
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough ; 
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough." 

IX. 

Their Captain came, a gallant young, — 
(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,) 
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 
Gay was his mien, his humor light. 
And, though by courtesy controlled. 
Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 
The high-born maiden ill could brook 
The scanning of his curious look 
And dauntless eye ; — and yet, in sooth, 
Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 
But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 
111 suited to the garb and scene, 
Might lightly bear construction strange, 
And give loose fancy scope to range. 
" Welcome to Stirling towers, fair 

maid ! 
Come ye to seek a champion's aid. 
On palfrey white, with harper hoar, 
Like errant damosel of yore ? 
Does thy high quest a knight require, 
Or may the venture suit a squire ? " 
Her dark eye flashed ;— she paused and 

sighed : — 
" O what have I to do with pride ! — 
Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and 

strife, 
j\ suppliant for a father's life, 
I crave an audience of the King. 
Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
The roval pledge of grateful claims. 
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James." 



The signet-ring young Lewis took, 
With deep respect and altered look ; 
And said: "This ring our duties own; 
And pardon, if to worth unknown, 
In semblance mean obscurely veiled, 
Lady, in aught my folly fafled. 
Soon as the day flings wide his gates. 
The King shall know what suitor waits. 
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower 
Repose you till his waking hour ; 
Female attendance shall obey 
Your hest, for service or array. 
Permit I marshal you the way." 
But, ere she followed, with the grace 
And open bounty of her race. 
She bade her slender purse be shared 
Among the soldiers of the guard. 
The rest with thanks their guerdon 

took; 
But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 
On the reluctant maiden's hold 
Forced bluntly back the proffered 

gold : — 
" Forgive a haughty English heart. 
And O, forget its ruder part ! 
The vacant purse shall be my share, 
Which in my barret-cap 1 '11 bear, 
Perchance, in jeopardy of war. 
Where gayer crests may keep afar." 
With thanks — 'twas all she could — 

the maid 
His rugged courtesy repaid. 



When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 
" My lady safe, O let your grace 
Give me to see my master's face ! 
His minstrel I, — to share his doom 
Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
Waked for his noble house their lyres, 
Nor one of all the race was known 
But prized its weal above their own. 
With the Chiefs birth begins our care ; 
Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace 
His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
In peace, in war, our rank we keep, 
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 
Nor leave him till we pour our verse, 
A doleful tribute ! — o'er his hearse. 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



t6t 



Then let me share his captive lot ; 
It is my right, — deny it not ! " 
*' Little we reck," said John of Brent, 
" We Southern men, of long descent ; 
Nor wot we how a name — a word — 
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord : 
Yet kind my noble landlord's part, — 
God bless the house of Beaudesert ! 
And, but I loved to drive the deer, 
More than to guide the laboring steer, 
I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me ; 
Thy Lord and Chieftain shall thou see." 



Then, from a rusted iron hook, 
A bunch of ponderous keys he took, 
Lighted a torch, and Allan led 
Through grated arch and passage dread. 
Portals they passed, where, deep within, 
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; 
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely 

stored, 
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's 

sword, 
And many a hideous engine grim, 
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb. 
By artists formed, who deemed it shame 
And sin to give their work a name. 
They halted at a low-browed porch, 
And Brent to Allan gave the torch, 
Whileboltandchain he back ward rolled. 
And made the bar unhasp its hold. 
They entered : — 't was a prison-room 
Of stern security and gloom, 
Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 
Through lofty gratings found its way. 
And rude and antique garniture 
Decked the sad walls and oaken floor : 
Such as the rugged days of old 
Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. 
*' Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst 

remain 
Till the Leech visit him again. 
Strict is his charge, the warders tell. 
To tend the noble prisoner well." 
Retiring then the bolt he drew. 
And the lock's murmurs growled anew. 
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
A captive feebly raised his head ; 
The wondering Minstrel looked, and 

knew — 
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu 1 



For, come from where Clan-Alpine 

fought, 
They, erring, deemed the Chief he 

sought. 



As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
Shall never stem the billows more, 
Deserted by her gallant band, 
Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 
So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu ! 
And oft his fevered limbs he threw 
In toss abrupt, as when her sides 
Lie rocking in the advancing tides, 
That shake her frame with ceaseless 

beat. 
Yet cannot heave her from her seat ; — 
O, how unlike her course at sea ! 
Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 
Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, — 
"What of thy lady ? — of my clan ? — 
My mother ? — Douglas ? — tell me all ? 
Have they been ruined in my fall ? 
Ah, yes ! or wherefore art thou here ! 
Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not 

fear." 
(For Allan, who his mood well knew, 
Was choked with grief and terror too.) 
" Who fought, — who fled ? — Old man, 

be brief; — 
Some might, — for they had lost their 

Chief 
Who basely live ? — who bravely died ? " 
" O, calm thee. Chief 1" the Minstrel 

cried, 
" Ellen is safe ! " " For that thank 

Heaven ! " 
" And hopes are for the Douglas 

given ; — 
The Lady Margaret, too, is well ; 
And, for thy clan, — on field or fell. 
Has never harp of minstrel told 
Of combat fought so true and bold. 
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent. 
Though many a goodly bough is rent." 



The Chieftain reared his form on high, 
And fever's fire was in his eye ; 
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks 
Checkered hisswarthybrowandcheeks. 
" Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee 

play. 
With measure bold, on festal day. 



l62 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 
Shall harper play, or warrior hear ! . . . 
That stirring air that peals on high, 
O'er Dermid's race our victory. — 
Strike it! — and then, (for well thou 

canst,) 
Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced. 
Fling me the picture of the fight, 
When met my clan the Saxon might. 
I '11 listen, till my fancy hears 
The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 
These grates, these walls, shall vanish 

then, 
P'or the fair field of fighting men. 
And my free spirit burst away. 
As if it soared from battle fray." 
The trembling Bard with awe obeyed, — 
Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 
But soon remembrance of the sight 
He witnessed from the mountain's 

height, 
With what old Bertram told at night. 
Awakened the full power of song. 
And bore him in career along ; — 
As shallop launched on river's tide. 
That slow and fearful leaves the side. 
But, when it feels the niiddle stream. 
Drives downward swift as lightning's 
L^JL... beam. 

XV. 
BATTLE OF BEAl' AN DUINE. 

" The Minstrel came once more to view 
The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
For ere he parted, he would say 
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 
Where shall he find, in foreign land, 
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! — 
There is no breeze upon the fern. 

No ripple on the lake, 
Upon her eyry nods the erne, 

The deer has sought the brake ; 
The small birds will not sing aloud. 

The springing trout lies still. 
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud. 
That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 

Benledi's distant hQl. 
Is it the thunder's solemn sound 
That mutters deep and dread. 
Or echoes from the groaning ground 

The warrior's measured tread ? 
Is it the lightning's quivering glance 
Tkat on the thicket streams, 



Or do they flash on spear and lance 
The sun's retiring beams? 
— I see the dagger-crest of Mar, 
I see the Moray's silver slar. 
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war. 
That up the lake conies winding far ! 
To hero bound for battle-strife, 

Or bard of martial lay, 
'T were w orth ten yearsof peaceful life. 
One glance at their array ! 



"Their light-armed archers far and 
near 
Surveyed the tangled ground. 
Their centre ranks, with pike and 
spear, 
A twilight forest frowned. 
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 

The stern battalia crowned. 
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang. 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armor's clang. 

The sullen march was dumb. 
There breathed no wind their crests 
to shake, 
Or wave their flags abroad ; 
Scarce the frailaspen seemed to quake. 

That shadowed o'er their road. 
Their vaward scouts no tidings biing, 

Can rouse no lurking foe. 
Nor spy a trace of living thing, 

Save when they stirred the roe; 
The host moves like a deep-sea wave. 
Where rise no rocks its power to brave. 
High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
The lake is passed, and now they gain 
A narrow and a broken plain. 
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws ; 
And here the horse andspearmen pause. 
While, to explore the dangerous glen, 
Dive through the pass the archer- men. 

XVII. 

" At once there rose .-^ wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell. 
As all the fiends, fi-om heaven that fell, 
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven, 

The archery appear : 
Forlife! for life ! their plight they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



163 



And broadswords flashing to the sky, 

Are maddening in the rear. 
Onward they drive, in dreadful race, 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase, 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 

The spearmen's twilight wood? — 
*Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your 
lances down ! 

Bear back both friend and foe ! ' — 
Like reeds before the tempest's frown, 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay levelled low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
The bristling ranks the onset bide — 
* We '11 quell the savage mountaineer, 

As their Tinchel cows the game ! 
They come as fleet as forest deer, 

We 'U drive them back as tame.' 



" Bearing before them, in their course, 
The relics of the archer force, 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam. 
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
Above the tide, each broadsword 

bright 
Was brandishing like beam of light. 

Each targe was dark below ; 
And with the ocean's mighty swing. 
When heaving to the tempest's wing, 
They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash, 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ; 
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
As if an hundred anvils rang ! 
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank, 
' My banner-man, advance 1 
I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 

Upon them with the lance ! ' — 
The horsemen dashed among the rout. 
As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords 
are out. 
They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward 
borne — 
Where, where was Roderick then ! 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 
The battle's tide was poured ; 



Vanished the Saxon's strugglingspear, 

Vanished the mountain-sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and 
steep. 
Receives her roaring linn. 
As the dark caverns of the deep 
Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the deep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass : 
None linger now upon the plain. 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 



" Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
That deep and doubling p .ss within, 
— Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
Is bearing on : its issue wait. 
Where the rude Trosach's dread defile 
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
Gray Benvenue I soon repassed, 
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
The sun is set ; — the clouds are 
met. 
The lowering scowl of heaven 
An inky hue of livid blue 
To the deep lake has given ; 
Strange gusts of wind from mountain 

glen 
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again. 
I heeded not the eddying surge, 
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge. 
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, 
Which like an earthquake shook the 

ground, 
And spoke the stern and desperate 

strife 
That parts not but with parting life, 
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 
The dirge of many a passing soul. 
Nearer itcomes — the dim-wood glen 
The martial flood disgorged again, 

But not in mingled tide ; 
The plaided warriors of the North 
High on the mountain thunder forth 

And overhang its side ; 
While by the lake below appears 
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears. 
At weary bay each shattered band. 
Eying their foemen, sternly stand ; 
Their banners stream like tattered 

sail. 
That flings its fragments to the gale- 
Ard broken arms and disarray 
Marked the fell havoc of the day. 



164 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



"Viewingthe mountain's ridge askance, 
The Saxon stood in sullen trance, 
Till Moray pointed with his lance, 

And cried : ' Behold yon isle ! — 
See ! none are left to guard its strand, 
But women weak, that wring the hand : 
'T is there of yore the robber band 

Their booty wont to pile ; — 
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store. 
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, 
And loose a shallop from the shore. 
Lightly we '11 tame the war-wolf then, 
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' 
Forth from the ranks a spearman 

sprung, 
On earth his casque and corslet rung, 
He plunged him in the wave : — 
All saw the deed, — the purpose knew, 
And to their clamors Ben venue 

A mingled echo gave ; 
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 
The helpless females scream for fear. 
And yells for rage the mountaineer. 
'T was then, as by the outcry riven. 
Poured down at once the lowering hea- 
ven : 
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's 

breast. 
Her billows reared their snowy crest. 
Well for the swimmer swelled they high, 
To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 
For round him showered, 'mid rain and 

hail. 
The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 
In vain. — He nears the isle — and lo ! 
His hand is on a shallop's bow. 
Just then a flash of lightning came, 
It tinged the waves and strand with 

flame ; 
I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame, 
Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
A naked dirk gleamed in her hand : — 
It darkened, — but amid the moan 
Of waves, I heard a dying groan ; — 
Another flash ! — the spearman floats 
A weltering corse beside the boats. 
And the stern matron o'er him stood. 
Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 

XXI. 

" ' Revenge ! revenge ! ' the Saxons 

cried. 
The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 



Despite the elemental rage, 
Again they hurried to engage ; 
But, ere they closed in desperate fight, 
Bloody with spurring came a knight, 
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white 

flag. 
Clarion and trumpet by his side 
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 
While, in the Monarch's name, afar 
An herald's voice forbade the war. 
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick 

bold. 
Were both, he said, in captive hold." 
But here the lay made sudden stand, 
The harp escaped the Minstrel's 

hand ! 
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
How Roderick brooked his minstrel- 
sy : 
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime. 
With lifted hand, kept feeble time ; 
That m otion ceased, — yet feel ing strong 
Varied his look as changed the song ; 
At length, no more his deafened ear 
The minstrel melody can hear ; 
His face grows sharp, — his hands are 

clenched. 
As if some pang his heart-strings 

wrenched ; 
Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
Is sternly fixed on vacancy ; 
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 
His parting breath, stout Roderick 

Dhu! — 
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast. 
While grim and still his spirit passed ; 
But when he saw that life was fled, 
He poured his wailing o'er the dead. 



" And art thou cold and lowly laid. 
Thy foemen's dread, thy people's aid, 
Breadalbane's boast. Clan - Alpine's 

shade ! 
For thee shall none a requiem say? — 
For thee, — who loved the minstrel's 

lay. 
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay. 
The shelter of her exiled line. 
E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
I '11 wail for Alpine's honored Pine 1 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



165 



• What groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
What shrieksof grief shall rend yon hill ! 
What tears of burning rage shall thrill. 
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 
Thy fall before the race was won, 
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun ! 
There breathes notclansman of thy line, 
But would have given his life for 

thine. 
O, woe for Alpine's honored Pine ! 

" Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
The prisoned eagle dies for rage. 
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
And, when its notes awake again. 
Even she, so long beloved in vain. 
Shall with my harp her voice combine, 
And mix her woe and tears with mine, 
To wail Clan- Alpine's honored Pine." 



Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
Remained in lordly bower apart. 
Where played, with many -colored 

gleams. 
Through storied pane the rising beams. 
In vain on gilded roof they fall. 
And lightened up a tapestried wall. 
And for her use a menial train 
A rich collation spread in vain. 
The banquet proud, the chamber gay. 
Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 
Or if she looked, 't was but to say, 
With better omen dawned the day 
In that lone isle, where waved on high 
The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 
Where oft her noble father shared 
The simple meal her care prepared, 
While Lufra, crouching by her side. 
Her station claimed with jealous pride, 
And Douglas, bent on woodland game, 
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Grseme, 
Whose answer, oft at random made, 
The wandering of his thoughts be- 
trayed. 
Those who such simple joys have 

known, 
Are taught to prize them when they 're 

gone. 
But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 
The window seeks with cautious tread. 
What distant music has the power 
To win her in this woful hour 1 



'T was from a turret that o'erhung 
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 



LAV OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. 

" My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
My idle greyhound loathes his food. 
My horse is weary of his stall. 
And I am sick of captive thrall. 
I wish I were as I have been. 
Hunting the hart in forest green. 
With bended bow and bloodhound free, 
For that 's the life is meet for me. 
I hate to learn the ebb of time. 
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chim«, 
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
Inch after inch, along the wall. 
The lark was wont my matins ring, 
The sable rook my vespers sing ; 
These towers, although a king's they be, 
Have not a hall of joy for me. 
No more at dawning mom I rise, 
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. 
Drive the fleet deer the forest through. 
And homeward wend with eveningdew; 
A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 
And lay my trophies at her feet. 
While fled the eve on wing of glee, — 
That life is lost to love and me 1 " 



The heart-sick lay was hardly said. 
The list'ner had not turned her head, 
It trickled still, the starting tear. 
When light a footstep struck her ear. 
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was 

near. 
She turned the hastier, lest again 
The prisoner should renew his strain. 
" O welcome, brave Fitz-James ! " she 

said ; 
" How may an almost orphan maid 
Pay the deep debt — " "O say not so I 
To me no gratitude you owe. 
Not mine, alas ! the boon to give. 
And bid thy noble father live ; 
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, 
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. 
No tyrant he, though ire and pride 
May lay his better mood aside. 
Come, Ellen, come ! 't is more than 

time, 
He holds his court at morning prime." 



i66 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



With beating heart, and bosom wrung, 
As to a brother's arms she clung. 
Gently he dried the falling tear. 
And gently whispered hope and cheer ; 
Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, 
1 hrough gallery fair and high arcade, 
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 
A portal arch unfolded wide. 

XXVI. 

Within 't was brilliant all and light, 
A thronging scene of figures bright; 
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, 
As when the setting sun has given 
Ten thousand hues to summer even, 
And from their tissue, fancy frames 
Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed ; 
A few faint steps she forward made. 
Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
And fearful round the presence gazed ; 
For him she sought, who owned this 

state. 
The dreaded Prince whose will was 

fate ! — 
She gazed on many a princely port, 
Might well have ruled a royal court ; 
On many a splendid garb she gazed, — 
Then turned bewildered and amazed. 
For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 
To him each lady's look was lent ; 
On him each courtier's eye was bent ; 
Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, 
He stood, in simple Lincoln green, 
The centre of the glittering ring, — 
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's 

King. 

XXVII. 

As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, 
Slides from the rock that gave it rest. 
Poor Ellen glided from her stay. 
And at the Monarch's feet she lay; 
No word her choking voice com- 
mands, — 
She showed the ring, — she clasped her 

hands. 
O, not a moment could he brook. 
The generous Prince, that suppliant 

look ! 
Gently he raised her, — and, the while. 
Checked with a glance the circle's smile ; 
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed. 
And bade her terrors be dismissed : — 



" Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fit» 

James 
The fealty of Scotland claims. 
To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring ; 
He v\-ill redeem his signet ring. 
Ask naught for Douglas; — yestereven 
His Prince and he have much forgiven; 
Wrong hath he had from slanderou^ 

tongue, 
I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 
We would not, to the vulgar crowd. 
Yield what they craved with clamorioud-. 
Calmly we heard and judged his cause, 
Our council aided, and our laws. 
I stanched thy father's death-feud stern, 
With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn ■. 
And Bothwell's Lordhenceforthweowr 
The friend and bulwark of our Throne. 
But, lovely infidel, how now? 
What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 
Thou must confirm this doubting maid.'* 



Then forth the noble Douglas sprung. 
And on his neck his daughter hung. 
The monarch drank, that happy hour. 
The sweetest, holiest draught of Pow- 
er, — 
When it can say, with godlike voice, 
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice ! 
Yet would not James the general eye 
On Nature's raptures long should pry; 
He stepped between — " Nay, Douglas, 

nay. 
Steal not my proselyte away ! 
The riddle 't is my right to read. 
That brought this happy chance to 

speed. 
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 
In life's more low but happier way, 
'T is under name which veils my power. 
Nor falsely veils, — for Stirling's tower 
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. 
And Normans call me James-Fitz- 

James. 
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws. 
Thus learn to right the injured cause." 
Then, in a tone apart and low, — 
" Ah, little traitressi none must know 
What idle dream, what lighter thought. 
What vanity full dearly bought. 
Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, 
drew 



THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 



167 



My spellbound steps to Benvenue, 
In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
Thy monarch's life to mountain 

glaive ! " 
Aloud he spoke : "Thou still dost hold 
That little talisman of gold, 
Pledge of my faith, Fitz- James's ring, — 
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?" 



Full well the conscious maiden guessed 
He probed the weakness of her breast ; 
But, with that consciousness, there came 
A lightening of her fears for Grseme, 
And more she deemed the monarch's ire 
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire 
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew ; 
And, to her generous feeling true. 
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 
* ' Forbear thy suit : — the King of kings 
Alone can stay life's parting wings, 
I know his heart, I know his hand. 
Have shared his cheer, and proved his 

brand : — 
My fairest earldom would I give 
To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live ! — 



Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
No other captive friend to save ? " 
Blushing, she turned her from the King, 
And to the Douglas gave the ring, 
As if she wished her sire to speak 
The suit that stained her glowing 

cheek. 
" Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force. 
And stubborn justice holds her course. 
Malcolm, come forth!" — and, at the 

word, 
Down kneeled the Grseme to Scotland's 

Lord. 
"Forthee, rash youth, nosnppliant sues, 
From thee may Vengeance claim her 

dues. 
Who, nurtured underneath our smile, 
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, 
And sought, amid thy faithful clan, 
A refuge for an outlawed man, 
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. 
Fetters and warder for the Graeme ! " 
His chain of gold the King unstrung, 
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, 
Then gently drew the glittering band. 
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand. 



Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark. 

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark. 

The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. 
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 

And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending. 

With distant echo from the fold and lea, 
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp 3 

Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, 
And little reck I of the censure sharp 

May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 

Through secret woes the world has never known, 
When oti the weary night dawned wearier day. 

And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. 
That I o'erlived such woes. Enchantress ! is thine own. 

Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire. 

Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 
'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 

'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. 
Receding now, the dying numbers ring 

Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell. 
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
And now, 't is silent all 3 — Enchantress, fare thee well ! 



i68 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



PREFACE. 

The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Tradition, particularly detailed 
in the Notes ; but bearing, in general, that Don Roderick, the last Gothic King of 
Spain, when the invasion of the Moors was impending, had the temerity to de- 
scend into an ancient vault near Toledo, the opening of which had been denounced 
as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, that his rash curiosity was 
mortified by an emblematical representation of those Saracens who, in the year 
714, defeated him in battle, and reduced Spain under their dominion. I have pre- 
sumed to prolong the Vision of the Revolutions of Spain down to the present 
eventful crisis of the Peninsula ; and to divide it, by a supposed change of scene, 
into Three Periods. The First of these represents the Invasion of the Moors, 
the Defeat and Death of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of 
the country by the Victors. The Second Period embraces the state of the 
Peninsula, when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese in the East and 
West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the renown of their arms ; sullied, 
however, by superstition and cruelty. An allusion to the inhumanities of the In- 
quisition terminates this picture. The Last Part of the Poem opens with the 
state of Spain previous to the unparalleled treachery of Buonaparte; gives a 
sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious and friendly kingdom, 
and terminates with the arrival of the British succors. It may be further proper to 
mention, that the object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail particu- 
lar incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the several periods 
brought upon the stage. 

I am too sensible of the respect due to the Public, especially by one who has 
already experienced more than ordinary indulgence, to offer any apology for the 
inferiority of the poetry to the subject it is chiefly designed to commemorate. 
Yet I think it proper to mention, that while I was hastily executing a work written 
for a temporary purpose, and on pas.sing events, the task was most cruelly inter- 
rupted by the successive deaths of Lord President Blair and Lord Viscount 
Melville. In those distinguished characters, I had not only to regret persons 
whose lives were most important to Scotland, but also whose notice and patronage 
honored my entrance upon active life ; and, I may add, with melancholy pride, 
who permitted my more advanced age to claim no common share in their friend- 
ship. Under such interruptions, the following verses, which my best and happiest 
efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am myself sensible, an 
appearance of negligence and incoherence, which, in other circumstances, I might 
have been able to remove. 

Edinburgh, June 24, 1811. 

INTRODUCTION. 

1. 

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire 
May rise distinguished o'er the din of war ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 169 

Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre, 

Who sung beleaguered Ilion's evil star? 
Such, Wellington, might reach thee from afar, 

Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range ; 
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar, 

All as it swelled 'twixt each loud trumpet-change. 
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge ! 

II. 
Yes ! such a strain, with all o'erpouring measure, 

Might melodize with each tumultuous sound. 
Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure, 

That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around ; 
The thundering cry of hosts' with conquest crowned. 

The female shriek, the ruined peasant's moan. 
The shout of captives from their chains unbound. 

The foiled oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthrown. 

III. 

But we, weak minstrels of a laggard day, 

Skilled but to imitate an elder page. 
Timid and raptureless, can we repay 

The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? 
Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage 

Those that could send thy name o'er sea and land. 
While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 

A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty hand, — 
How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band ! 

IV. 

Ye mountains stem ! within whose rugged breast 

The friends of Scottish freedom found repose ; 
Ye torrents ! whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, 

Returning from the field of vanquished foes ; 
Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close. 

That erst the choir of Bards or Druids flung ; 
What time their hymn of victory arose, 

And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung. 
And mystic Merlin harped, and gray-haired Llywarch sung? 

V. 

O, if your wilds such minstrelsy retain. 

As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say. 
When sweeping wild and sinking soft again. 

Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
If ye can echo such triumphant lay. 

Then lend the note to him has loved you long ! 
Who pious gathered each tradition gray, 

That floats your solitary wastes along. 
And with affection vain gave them new voice in song. 

VI. 

For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 
Of truant verge hath lightened graver care. 



170 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 

In phrase poetic, inspiration fair ; 
Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 

They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
Nor for himself- prefers he now the prayer; 

Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
Immortal be the verse ! — forgot the poet's name ! 

VII. 

Hark, from yon misty cairn their answer tost : 

" Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre, 
Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost. 

Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 
If to such task presumptuous thou aspire, 

Seek not from us the meed to warrior due : 
Age after age has gathered son to sire. 

Since our gray cliffs the din of conflict knew. 
Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. 

VIII. 

" Decayed our old traditionary lore. 

Save where the lingering fays renew their ring. 
By milkmaid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar. 

Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spjring; 
Save where their legends gray-haired shepherds sing, 

That now scarce win a listenmg ear but thiue, 
Of feuds obscure, and Border ravaging. 

And rugged deeds recount in rugged line, 
Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tyne. 

IX. 

" No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 

Gives with unstinted boon ethereal flame, 
Where the rude villager, his labor done. 

In verse spontaneous chants some favored name. 
Whether Olaha's charms his tribute claim, 
Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet ; 
. Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Graeme, 

He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
Old Albin's red claymore, green Erin's bayonet ! 

X. 

" Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 

Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, 
Where in the proud Alhambra's ruined breast 

Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 

Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane. 
From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws 

An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 

XI. 

"There, of Numantian fire a swarthy spark 
Still lightens in the sunburnt native's eye ; 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 171 

The stately port, slow stejj, and visage dark, 

Still mark enduring pride and constancy. 
And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 

Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 

Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortune fought and died 

XII. 

"And cherished still by that unchanging race, ^ 

Are themes for minstrelsy more high than thine ; 
Of strange tradition many a mystic trace. 

Legend and vision, prophecy and sign ; 
Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 

With Gothic imagery of darker shade, 
Forming a model meet for minstrel line. 

Go, seek such theme ! " — The Mountain Spirit said. 
With filial awe I heard, — I heard, and I obeyed. 



Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies. 

And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise, 

As from a trembling lake of silver white. 
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 

Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below, 
And naught disturbs the silence of the night ; 

All sleeps in sullen shade, or silver glow, 
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. 



All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide, 

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp ; 
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride, 

To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp. 
For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp. 

Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen. 
Which glimmered back, against the moon's fair lamp, 

Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen. 
And standards proudly pitched, and- warders armed between. 



But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, 

Since last the deep-mouthed bell of vespers tolled, 
The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 

The post beneath the proud Cathedral hold : 
A band unlike their Gothic sires of old, 

Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace. 
Bear slender darts, and casques bedecked with gold. 

While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace. 
Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place. 



X72 rHE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



In the light language of an idle court, 

They murmured at their master's long delay, 
And held his lengthened orisons in sport : — 

" What ! will Don Roderick here till morning stay. 
To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? 

And are his hours in such dull penance past, 
For fair Florinda's plundered charms to pay? " 

Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
And wished the hngering dawn would glimmer forth at last. 



But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 

An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, 

So long that sad confession witnessing : 
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 

Such as are loathly uttered to the air. 
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame the bosom wring, 

And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear. 
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. 



Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair, 

The stream of failing light was feebly rolled : 
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare, 

Was shadowed by his hand and mantle's fold. 
While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, 
That mortal man his bearing should behold, 

Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook. 
Fear tame a monarch's brow. Remorse a warrior's look. 



The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale. 

As many a secret sad the King bewrayed ; 
As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale, 

When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed. 
" Thus royal Witiza was slain," he said ; 

"Yet, Holy Father, deem not it was I." 
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. 

" O, rather deem 't was stern necessity ! 
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die. 



"And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air, 

If she invoked her absent sire in vain. 
And on her knees implored that I would spare. 

Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! 
All is not as it seems, — the female train 

Know by their bearing to disguise their mood " ; — 
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain. 

Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood, — 
He stayed his speech abrupt, — and up the Prelate stoo(? 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. I73 



'• O hardened offspring of an iron race ! 

What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say ? 
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface 

Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away I 
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray. 

Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boast ? 
How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, 

Unless, in mercy to yon Christian host, 
He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lost." 

Then kindled the dark tyrant in his mood, 

And to his brow returned its dauntless gloom ; 
"And welcome then," he cried, " be blood for blood. 

For treason treachery, for dishonor doom ! 
Yet will 1 know whence come they, or by whom, 

Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated key. 
And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious room, 

Where, if aught true in old tradition be. 
His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." 



*' Ill-fated Prince ! recall the desperate word, 

Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
Bethink, yon spellbound portal would afford 

Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
Nor shall it ever ope, old records say, 

Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
What time his empire totters to decay. 

And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine, 
And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine.' 



" Prelate I a Monarch's fate brooks no delay ; 

Lead on ! " The ponderous key the old man took. 
And held the winking lamp, and led the way, 

By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook. 
Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 

And, as the key the desperate King essayed. 
Low muttered thunders the Cathedral shook. 

And twice he stopped, and twice new effort made, 
Till the huge bolts rolled back, and the loud hinges brayed. 



Long, large, and lofty was that vaulted hall ; 

Roof, walls, and floor were all of marble stone. 
Of polished marble, black as funeral pall, 

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown. 
A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy ; 
For window to the upper air was none ; 

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye. 



174 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, 

Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place; 
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall. 

Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race. 

That lived and sinned before the avenging flood ; 
This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 

This spread his wings lor flight, that pondering stood, 
Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood. 



Fixed was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 

Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand, 
As if its ebb he measured by a book. 

Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
In which was wrote of many a fallen land, 

Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand, — 

" Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
The guidance of the earth is for a season given." 



Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away ; 

And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway, 

As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 
Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 

At once descended with the force of thunder, 
And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap, 

The marble boundary was rent asunder. 
And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder. 



For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach, 

Realms as of Spain in visioned prospect laid, 
Castles and towers, in due proportion each. 

As by some skilful artist's hand portrayed : 
Here, crossed by many a wild Sierra's shade, 

And boundless plains that tire the traveller's eye ; 
There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade, 

Or deep-embrowned by forests huge and high. 
Or washed by mighty streams, that slowly murmured by. 

XVIII. 

And here, as erst upon the antique stage 

Passed forth the band of maskers trimly led, 
In various forms, and various equipage. 

While fitting strains the hearer's fancy fed ; 
So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread, 

Successive pageants filled that mystic scene, 
Showing the fate of battles ere they bled. 

And issue of events that had not been ; 
And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 175 



First shrilled an unrepealed female shriek ! «- 

It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call, 
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. 

Then answered kettle drum and atabal, 
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appall. 

The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelie's yell. 
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 

Needs not to Roderick tlieir dread import tell, — 
"The Moor ! " he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the Tocsin bell ! 

XX. 

" They come ! they come ! I see the groaning lands 

White with the turbans of each Arab horde ; 
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands. 

Alia and Mahomet their battle-word, 
The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword, — 

See how the Christians rush to arms amain ! — 
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared, 

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain, — 
Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good cause of Spain I 

XXI. 

" By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians yield 1 

Their coward leader gives for flight the sign 
The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field, — 

Is not yon steed Orelio ? Yes, 't is mine ! 
But never was she turned from laattle-line : 

Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone ! — 
Curses pursue the slave, and wrath divine ! 

Rivers ingulf him ! " " Hush," in shuddering tone, 
The Prelate said ; " rash Prince, yon visioned form 's thine own." 

XXII. 

Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course ; 

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse, 

Swept like benighted peasant down the tide ; 
And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide. 

As numerous as their native locust band ; 
Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide, 

With naked scymitars mete out the land, 
And for the bondsmen base the freeborn natives brand. 



Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 

The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
Then, menials, to their misbelieving foes, 

Castile's young nobles held forbidden wine ; 
Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign. 

By impious hands was from the altar thrown, 
And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 

Echoed, for holy hynni and organ-tone. 
The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moai\ 



176 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

XXIV. 

How fares Don Roderick ? — E'en as one who spies 

Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woo^ 
And hears around his children's piercing cries, 

And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof, 

His folly, or his crime, have caused his grief; 
And while above him nods the crumbling roof, 

He curses earth and Heaven, — himself in chief, ^- 
Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief I 

XXV. 

That scythe-armed Giant turned his fatal glass 

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings; 
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings ;■ 
And to the sound the bell-decked dancer springs, 

Bazars resound as when their marts are met, 
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, 

And on the land as evening seemed to set. 
The Imaum's chant was heard from mosque or minaret. 

XXVI. 

So passed that pageant. Ere another came, 

The visionary scene was wrapped in smoke, 
Whose sulph'rous wreaths were crossed by sheets of flame 

With every flash a bolt explosive broke, 
Till Roderick deemed the fiends had burst their yoke, 

And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone ! 
For War a new and dreadful language spoke. 

Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
Lightning and smoke lier breath, and thunder was her tone. 

XXVII. 

From the dim landscape roll the clouds away, — 

The Christians have regained their heritage ; 
Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray. 

And many a monastery decks the stage. 
And lofty church, and low-browed hermitage. 

The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 
The Genii those of Spain for many an age ; 

This clad in sackcloth, that in armor bright. 
And that was Valor named, this Bigotry was hight. 

XXVIII. 

Valor was harnessed like a chief of old. 

Armed at all points, and prompt for knightly gest ; 
His sword was tempered in the Ebro cold, 

Morena's eagle plume adorned his crest. 
The spoils of Afric's lion bound his breast. 

Fierce he stepped forward and flung down his gage : 
As if of mortal kmd to brave the best. 

Him followed his Companion, dark and sage, 
As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archinaage. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 177 



Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 

In look and language proud as proud might be. 
Vaunting his lordship, lineage, fights, and fame : 

Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he : 
And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, 

So round the loftiest soul his toils he wound. 
And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 

Till ermined Age and Youth in arms renowned. 
Honoring his scourge and haircloth, meekly kissed the ground. 

XXX. 

And thus it chanced that Valor, peerless knight, 

Who ne'er to King or Kaiser veiled his crest, 
Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, 

Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
Stooped ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 

Nor reasoned of the right, nor of the wrong. 
But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 

And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along. 
For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 



Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world. 

That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurled, — 

Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 
Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Omrahs worn. 

Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foul ; 
Idols of gold from heathen temples torn. 

Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl 
The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowL 

xxxir. 
Theii did he bless the offering, and bade make 

Tribute to heaven of gratitude and praise ; 
And at his word the choral hymns awake. 

And many a hand the silver censer sways, 
But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 

Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire ; 
The groans of prisoned victims mar the lays. 

And shrieks of agony confound the choir ; 
While, mid the mingled sounds, the darkened scenes expire. 



Preluding light, were strains of music heard. 

As once again revolved that measured sand ; 
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared. 

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band ; 
When for the light bolero ready stand 

The mozo blithe, with gay niuchacha met. 
He conscious of his broidered cap and band. 

She of her netted locks and light corsette. 
Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet 



^8 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



And well such strains the opening scene became ; 

For Valor had relaxed his ardent look, 
And at a lady's feet, like lion tame, 

Lay stretched, full loath the vyeight of arms to brook ; 
And softened Bigotry, upon his book, 

Pattered a task of little good or ill : 
But the blithe peasant plied his pruning-hook, 

Whistled. the muleteer o'er vale and hill. 
And rung from village-green the merry seguidille. 



Gray Royalty, grown impotent of toil. 

Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold ; 
And, careless, saw his rule become the spoil 

Of a loose Female and her minion bold. 
But peace was on the cottage and the fold. 

From court intrigue, from bickering faction far ; 
Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told. 

And to the tinkling of the light guitar 
Sweet stooped the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. 



As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, 

When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen. 
Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 

Awhile, perchance, bedeck'd with colors sheen. 
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 

Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, 
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene. 

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud. 
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud ; 



Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured. 

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band. 
And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword. 

And oflfered peaceful front and open hand, 
Veiling the perjured treachery he planned, 

By friendship's zeal and honor's specious guise, 
Until he won the passes of the land ; 

Then burst were honor's oath and friendship's ties ! 
He clutched his vulture grasp, and called fair Spain his prize> 



An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore; 

And well such diadem his heart became, 
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er. 

Or checked his course for piety or shame ; 
Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame 

Might flourish in the wreath of battles won. 
Though neither truth nor honor decked his name : 

Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne. 
Recked not of Monarch's faith or Mercy's kingly tone. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 179 



From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 

The spark, that, from a suburb -liovel's hearth 
Ascending, wraps some capital in flame, 

Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 

The sable land-flood from soma swamp obscure, 
That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth, 

And by destruction bids its fame endure. 
Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure. 

XL. 

Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form ; 

Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor showed, 
With which she beckoned him through fight and storm, 

And all he crushed tliat crossed his desperate road. 
Nor thought, nor feared, nor looked on what he trode. 

Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake, 
So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 

It was Ambition bade her terrors wake. 
Nor deigned she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 

XLI. 

No longer now she spurned at mean revenge. 

Or stayed her hand for conquered foeman's moan ; 
As when, the fates of aged Rome to change. 

By Caesar's side she crossed the Rubicon. 
Nor joyed she to bestow the spoils she won, 

As when the banded powers of Greece were tasked 
To war beneath the Youth of Macedon : 

No seemly veil her modern minion asked. 
He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmasked. 

XLII. 

That Prelate marked his march. — On banners blazed 

With battles won in many a distant land, 
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed ; 

"And hopest thou, then," he said, " thy power shall stand? 
O, thou hast builded on the shifting sand. 

And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood ; 
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand. 

Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud. 
And by a bloody death shall die the Man of Blood ! " 

XLIII. 

The ruthless Leader beckoned from his train 

A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel, 
And paled his temples with the crown of Spain, 

While trumpets rang and heralds cried " Castile ! " 
Not that he loved him — No ! — In no man's weal. 

Scarce in his own, e'er joyed that sullen heart ; 
Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel. 

That the poor puppet might perform his part. 
And be a sceptred slave, at his stern beck to start. 



,8o THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



But on the Natives of that Land misused 

Not long the silence of amazement hung. 
Nor brooked they long their friendly faith abused ; 

For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
Exclaimed, " To arms ! " — and fast to arms they sprung. 

And Valor woke, that Genius of the Land 1 
Pleasure, and ease, and sloth aside he flung. 

As burst the awakening Nazarite his band, 
When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clenched his dreadful hand. 

XLV. 

That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 

Upon the Satraps that begirt him round, 
Now doffed his royal robe in act to fly. 

And from his brow the diadem unbound. 
So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound, 

From Tarik's walls to Bilboa's mountains blown 
These martial satellites hard labor found. 

To guard awhile his substituted throne, — _ 
Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 

XLVI. 

From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 

And it was echoed from Corunna's wall ; 
Stately Seville responsive war-shot flung, 

Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall; 
Galicia bade her children fight or fall, 

Wild Biscay shook his mountain coronet, 
Valencia roused her at the battle-call. 

And, foremost still where Valor's sons are met, 
first started to his gun each fiery Miquelet. 



But unappalled, and burning for the fight. 

The Invaders march, of victory secure ; 
Skilful their force to sever or unite, 

And trained alike to vanquish or eadure. 
Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to insure, 

Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow. 
To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 

While naught against them bring the unpractised foe, 
Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for Freedom's blow. 



Proudly they march — but, O, they march not forth 

By one hot field to crown a brief campaign. 
As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North, 

Destroyed at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain : 

In vain the steel, in vain the torch, was plied. 
New Patriot armies started from the slain. 

High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide. 
And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. i8i 



Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 

Remained their savage waste. With blade and brand 
By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale, 

But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 
Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land, 

And claimed for blood the retribution due. 
Probed the hard heart, and lopped the murderous hand ; 

And Dawn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw 
Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew. 

L. 

What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell. 

Amid the visioned strife from sea to sea, 
How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 

Still honored in defeat as victory ! 
For that sad pageant of events to be 

Showed every form of fight by field and flood ; 
Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee. 

Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud. 
The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrenched with blood ! 



Then Zaragoza, — blighted be the tongue 

That names thy name without the honor due I 
For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung. 

Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
Mine, sap, and bomb thy shattered ruins knew, 

Each art of war's extremity had room. 
Twice from thy half-sacked streets the foe withdrew, 

And when at length stern fate decreed thy doom. 
They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. 



Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains. 

Enthralled thou canst not be ! Arise, and claim 
Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns. 

For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted dame, 
She of the Column, honored be her name 

By all, whate'er their creed, who honor love 1 
And like the sacred relics of the flame. 

That gave some martyr to the bless'd above. 
To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove I 

LIII. 

Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair I 

Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung. 
Manning the towers, while o'er their heads the air 

Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ; 
Now thicker darkening where the mine was sprung, 

Now briefly lightened by the cannon's flare. 
Now arched with fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, 

And reddening now with conflagration's glare, 
While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. 



i82 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



While all around was danger, strife, and fear, 

While the earth shook, and darkened was the sky, 
And wide Destruction stunned the listening ear, 

Appalled the heart, and stupefied the eye, — 
Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry. 

In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite. 
Whene'er her soul is up, and pulse beats high, 

Whether it hail the wine-cup or the fight. 
And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light. 



Don Roderick turned him as the shout grew loud — 

A varied scene the changeful vision showed. 
For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 

A gallant navy stemmed the billows broad. 
From mast and stern St. George's symbol flowed. 

Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear ; 
Mottling the sea their landward barges rowed. 

And flashed the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear. 
And the wild beach returned the seamen's jovial cheer. 



It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! 

The billows foamed beneath a thousand oars, 
Fast as they land the red-cross ranks unite, 

Legions on legions brightening all the shores. 
Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars, 

Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum, 
Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours. 

And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 
For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come 1 



A various host they come, — whose ranks display 

Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight, 
The deep battalion locks its firm array, 

And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
Far glance the light of sabres flashing bright. 

Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead. 
Lacks not artillery breathing flame and night, 

Nor the fleet ordnance whirled by rapid steed. 
That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 



A various host — from kindred realms they came, 

Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 

And with their deeds of valor deck her crown. 
Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown. 

And hers their sconi of death in freedom's cause, 
Their eyes of azure, and their locks of brown, 

And the blunt speech that bursts without a pause. 
And fireeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with the Laws. 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 183 



And, O loved warriors of the Minstrel's land ! 

Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
The rugged form may mark the mountain band, 

And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
But ne'er in battle-field throbbed heart so brave 

As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid ; 
And when the pibroch bids the battle rave. 

And level for the charge your arms are laid, 
Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset stayed J 



Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laughter rings. 

Mingling wild mirth with war's stern minstrelsy, 
His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, 

And moves to death with military glee : 
Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and free. 

In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 
Rough nature's children, humorous as she : 

And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone 
Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own. 



Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown. 

On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
And hear Corunna wail her battle won. 

And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze : — 
But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise? 

Hath fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room ? 
And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays, 

That claim a long eternity to bloom 
Around the warrior's crest and o'er the warrior's tomb ? 



Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 

And stretch a bold hand to the awful veil 
That hides futurity from anxious hope, 

Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail. 
And painting Europe rousing at the tale 

Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurled, 
While kindling nations buckle on their mail. 

And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurled, 
To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World ! 



O vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast. 

Since Fate has marked futurity her own : 
Yet Fate resigns to worth the glorious past. 

The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 
Then, though the Vault of Destiny be gone. 

King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain, 
Melted away like mist-wreaths in the sun, 

Yet grant for faith, for valor, and for Spain, 
One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain ! 



i84 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 

CONCLUSION. 
I. 
" Who shall command Estrella's mountain tide 

Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie ? 
Who, when Gascogne's vexed gulf is raging wide, 

Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
His magic power let such vain boaster try, 

And when the torrent shall his voice obey. 
And Biscay's whirhvinds list his lullabj'. 

Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way, 
And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. 
II. 
" Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 
They close their wings, the symbol of our yoke, 
And their own sea hath whelmed yon red-cross powers I ' 

Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock, 
To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. 

While downward on the land his legions press. 
Before them it was rich with vine and flock, 
And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. 

III. 
And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word. 

Though Heaven hath heard the wailings of the lanc^ 
Though Lusitania whet her vengeful sword, 

Though Britons arm, and Wellington command I 
No'! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 

An adamantine barrier to his force ; 
And from its base shall wheel his shattered band, 

As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. 

IV. 

Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 

Hath on his best and bravest made her food, 
In numbers confident, yon Chief shall balk 

His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood : 
For full in view the promised conquest stood. 

And Lisbon's matrons from their walls might sum 
The myriads that had half the world subdued, 

And hear the distant thunders of the drum, 
That bids the bands of France to storm and havoc com* 

V. 

Four moons have heard these thunders idly rolled. 

Have seen these wistful myriads eye their prey. 
As famished wolves survey a guarded fold — 

But in the middle path a Lion lay ! 
At length they move — but not to battle-fray, 

Nor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight ; 
Beacons of infamy, they light the way 

Where cowardice and cruelty unite 
To damn with double shame their ignominious flight I 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 185 



O triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath ! 

Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot. 
What wanton horrors marked their wreckful path 1 

The peasant butchered in his ruined cot, 
The hoary priest even at the altar shot, 

Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame, 
Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot, 

By which inventive demons might proclaim 
Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name 1 



The rudest sentinel, in Britain born. 

With horror paused to view the havoc done, 
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn, 

Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasped his gun. 
Nor with less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son 

Exult the debt of sympathy to pay ; 
Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun, 

Nor prince nor peer, the wealthy nor the gay, 
Nor the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless lay. 

VIII. 

But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 

Minion of Fortune, now miscalled in vain ! 
Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 

Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain chain? 
Vainglorious fugitive ! yet turn again ! 

Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, 
Flows Honor's Fountain, as foredoomed the stain 

From thy dishonored name and arms to clear — 
Fallen Child of Fortune, turn, redeem her favor here I 



Yet, ere thou turn'st. collect each distant aid ; 

Those chief that never heard the lion roar ! 
Within whose souls lives not a trace portrayed, 

Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
Marshal each band thou hast, and summon more ; 

Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour, 

Legion on legion on thy foeman roll. 
And weary out his arm, — thou canst not quell his soul. 



O, vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore. 

Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
And front the flying thunders as they roar, 

With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain ! 
And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, 

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given — 
Vengeance and grief gave mountain rage the rein, 

And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven. 
Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. 



Mb THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 



Go, baffled boaster ! teach thy haughty mood 

To plead at thine imperious master's throne, 
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood, 

Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own; 
Say, that thine utmost skill and valor shown, 

By British skill and valor were outvied ; 
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington ; 

And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
God and our cause to friend, the venture we '11 abide. 



But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day, 

How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown, 
His meed to eacli victorious leader pay, 

Or bind on every brow the laurels won ? 
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone. 

O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave : 
And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own. 

Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. 



Yes 1 hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 

To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
Hark ! Albuera thunders Beresford, 

And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless Gr^me I 
O for a verse of tumult and of flame, 

Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound, 
To bid the world re-echo to their fame ! 

For never, upon gory battle-ground. 
With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors crpwne4 1 



O, who shall grudge him Albuera's bays. 

Who brought a race regenerate to the field, 
Roused them to emulate their father's praise, 

Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steeled, 
And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield. 

And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 
And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield — 

Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord. 
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresford ! 



Not on that bloody field of battle won, 

Though Gaul's proud legions rolled like mist awayr 
Was half his self-devoted valor shown, — 

He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
But when he toiled those squadrons to array. 

Who fought like Britons in the bloody game. 
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay. 

He braved the shafts of censure and of shame. 
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. 



T 



THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 187 



Nor be his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied ; 

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound. 

The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still 
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground ; 

He dreamed mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. 
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill. 



O hero of a race renowned of old, 

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell. 
Since first distinguished in the onset bold, 

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell I 
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame, 
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell, 

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, 
Than when wild Rouda learned the conquering shout of GRiEME ! 



But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, 

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) 
By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark. 

And landward now I drive before the gale. 
And now the blue and distant shore I hail, 

And nearer now I see the port expand, ' 
And now I gladly furl my weary sail. 

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, 
I strike my red-cross flag and bind ray skiff to land. 



ROKEBY. 



ROKEB Y. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rokeby, near Greta Bridge, in Yorkshira, 
kfld shifts to the adjacent Fortress of Barnard Castle, and to other places in that 
Vicinity. 

The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three of which are 
supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and the beginning of the Sixth 
Canto. 

The Date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to the great Battle 
of Marston Moor, 3d July, 1644. This period of public confusion has been chosen 
without any purpose of combining the Fable with the Military or Political Events 
of the Civil War, but only as affording a degree of probability to the Fictitious 
narrative now presented to the Public. 



CANTO FIRST. 



The Moon is in her summer glow, 
But hoarse and high the breezes blow, 
And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream, 
She changes as a guilty dream, 
When Conscience, with remorse and 

fear, 
Goads sleeping Fancy's wild career. 
Her light seems now theblush of shame, 
Seems now fierce anger's darker flame. 
Shifting that shade, to come and go. 
Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
Then sorrow's livery dims the air. 
And dies in darkness, like despair. 
Such varied hues the warder sees 
Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth. 
Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 
Hears, upon turret-roof and wall, 
By fits the plashing rain-drop fall. 
Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 



Those towers, which in the changeful 

gleam 
Throw murky shadows on the stream, 



Those towers of Baniard hold a guest, 
The emotions of whose troubled breast. 
In wild and strange confusion driven. 
Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
Ere sleep stern Oswald's senses tied, 
Oft had he changed his weary side. 
Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 
By effort strong to banish thought. 
Sleep came at length, but with a train 
Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
The expected future with the past. 
Conscience, anticipating time. 
Already rues the unacted crime. 
And calls her furies forth, to shake 
The sounding scourge and hissing snake; 
While her poor victim's outward throes 
Bear witness to his mental woes. 
And show what lesson may be read 
Beside a sinner's restless bed. 



Thus Oswald's laboring feelings trace 
Strange changes in his sleeping face, 
Rapid and ominous as these 
With which the moonbeams tinge the 

Tees. 
There might be seen of shame theblush. 
There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 
While the perturbed sleeper's hand 
Seemed grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 



ROKEBY, 



189 



Relaxed that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
The tear in the half-opening eye. 
The pallid cheek and brow, confessed 
That grief was busy in his breast : 
N or paused that mood, — a sudden start 
Impelled the life-blood from the heart : 
Features convulsed, and mutterings 

dread. 
Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
That pang the painful slumber broke, 
And Oswald with a start awoke. 



He woke, and feared again to close 
His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
Or listen to the owlet's cry, 
Or the sad breeze that whistles by. 
Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
With which the warder cheats the time. 
And envying think, how, when the sun 
Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
Couched on his straw, and fancy-free, 
He sleeps like careless infancy. 



Far townward sounds a distant tread. 
And Oswald, starting from his bed. 
Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
Unsharpened by revenge and fear. 
Could e'er distinguish horse's clank, 
Until it reached the castle bank. 
Now nigh and plain the sound appears. 
The warder's challenge now he hears, 
Then clanking chains and levers tell, 
That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 
And, in the castle court below. 
Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
As marshalling the stranger's way. 
Straight for the room where Oswald lay ; 
The cry was, — " Tidings from the host, 
Of weight, — a messenger comes post." 
Stifling the tumult of his breast. 
His answer Oswald thus expressed, — 
" Bring food and wine, and trim the 

fire ; 
Admit the stranger, and retire." 



The stranger came with heavy stride ; 
The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
And the buff-coat, an ample fold, 
Mantles his form'e gigantic mould. 



Full slender answer deigned he 
To Oswald's anxious courtesy. 
Rut marked, by a disdainful smile. 
He saw and scorned the petty wile. 
When Oswald changed the torch's place, 
Anxious that on the soldier's face 
Its partial lustre might be thrown, 
To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
His guest, the while, laid low aside 
The ponderous cloak of tough bull's 

hide. 
And to the torch glanced broad and 

clear 
The corselet of a cuirassier ; 
Then from his brows the casque he 

drew, 
And from the dank plume dashed the 

dew. 
From gloves of mail relieved his hands. 
And spread them to the kindlingbrands. 
And, turning to the genial board, 
Without a health, or pledge, or word 
Of meet and social reverence said. 
Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 
As free from ceremony's sway. 
As famished wolf that tears his prey. 



With deep impatience, tinged with fear-. 
His host beheld him gorge his cheer. 
And quaff the full carouse, that lent 
His brow a fiercer hardiment. 
Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
Now paced the room with hasty stride, 
In feverish agony to learn 
Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
Cursing each moment that his guest 
Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
Yet, viewing with alarm, at last. 
The end of that uncouth repast. 
Almost he seemed their haste to rue. 
As, at his sign, his train withdrew. 
And left him with the stranger, free 
To question of his mystery. 
Then did his silence long proclaim 
A struggle between fear and shame. 



Much in the stranger's mien appears. 
To justify suspicious fears. 
On his dark face a scorching clime. 
And toil, had done the work of time, - 
Roughened the brow, tlietemplesbaved, 
And sable hairs with silver shared, 



1 9° 



ROKEBY. 



Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
The fuD-drawn lip that upward curled, 
The eye that seemed to scorn the world. 
That lip had terror never blenched ; 
Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quenched 
The flash severe of swarthy glow, 
That mocked at pain, and knew not woe. 
Inured to danger's direst form, 
Tornade and earthquake, flood and 

storm. 
Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
By wasting plague, by tortures slow, 
By mine or breach, by steel or ball, 
Knew all his shapes, and scorned them 

all. 

IX. 

But yet, though Bertram's hardened 

look, 
Unmoved, could blood and danger 

brook, 
Still worse than apathy had place 
On his swart brow and callous face ; 
For evil passions, cherished long, 
Had ploughed them with impression 

strong. 
All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
Light folly, past with youth away, 
But rooted stood, in manhood's hour. 
The weeds of vice without their flower. 
And yet the soil in which they grew, 
Had it been tamed when life was new, 
Had depth and vigor to bring forth 
The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
Not that, e'en then, his heart had 

known 
The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
But lavish waste had been refined 
To bounty in his chastened mind. 
And lust of gold, that waste to feed. 
Been lost in love of glory's meed, 
And, frantic then no more, his pride 
Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 

X. 

Even now, by conscience imrestrained. 
Clogged by gross vice, by slaughter 

stained. 
Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
For meaner guilt, or heart less hard. 
Quailed beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
H« strove, by many a winding train, 



To lure his sullen guest to show. 
Unasked, the news he longed to know. 
While on far other subject hung 
His heart, than falteredfrom his tongue. 
Yet naught for that his guest did deign 
To note or spare his secret pain, 
But still, in stern and stubborn sort. 
Returned him answer dark and short. 
Or started from the theme, to range 
In loose digression wild and strange, 
And forced the embarrassed host to buy, 
By query close, direct reply. 



Awhile he glozed upon the cause 
Of Commons, Covenant and Laws, 
And Church Reformed, — but felt 

rebuke 
Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look, 
Then stammered, — " Has a field been 

fought? 
Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
For sure a soldier, famed so far 
In foreign fields for feats of war, 
On eve of fight ne'er left the host. 
Until the field were won and lost." 
" Here, in your towers by circling Tees, 
You, Oswald Wycliffe, rest at ease ; 
Why deem it strange that others come 
To share such safe and easy home, 
From fields where danger, death, and 

toil 
Are the reward of civil broil?" 
'■ Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we 

know 
The near advances of the foe, 
To mar our northern army's work. 
Encamped before beleaguered York ; 
Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay 
And must have fought, — how went the 

day?" 

XII. 

" Would'st hear the tale? — On Mars- 
ton heath 
Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
Flourished the trumpets fierce, and now 
Fired was each eye, and flushed each 

. brow ; 
On either side loud clamors ring, 
' God and the Cause ! ' — ' God and 

the King ! ' 
Right English all, they rushed to blo^-s, 
With naught to win, and all to lose 



ROME BY. 



igr 



I could have laughed, — but lacked the 

time, — 
To see, in phrenesy sublime, 
How the fierce zealots fought and bled. 
For king or state, as humor led ; 
Some for a dream of public good, 
Some for church-tippet, gown and hood, 
Draining their veins, in death to claim 
A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 
Led Bertram Risingham the hearts, 
That countered there on adverse parts, 
No superstitious fool had I 
Sought El Dorados in the sky ! 
Chili had heard me through her states, 
And Lima oped her silver gates. 
Rich Mexico I had marched through, 
And sacked the splendors of Peru, 
Till sunk Pizarro's daring name, 
And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's 

fame." — 
" Still from the purpose wilt thou stray ! 
Good gentle friend, how went the 

day?" 



" Good am I deemed at trumpet sound, 
And good where goblets dance the 

round, 
Though gentle ne'er was joined, till 

now. 
With rugged Bertram's breast and 

brow. — 
But I resume. The battle's rage 
Was like the strife which currents wage, 
Where Orinoco, in his pride, 
Rolls to the main no tribute tide. 
But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
A rival sea of roaring war ; 
While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 
The billows fling their foam to heaven, 
And the pale pilot seeks in vain. 
Where rolls the river, where the main. 
Even thus upon the bloody field. 
The eddying tides of conflict wheeled 
Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 
Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came. 
Hurling against our spears a line 
Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 
Then ours, though stubborn in their 

zeal. 
In zeal's despite began to reel. 
What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult 

tost. 
Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 



A thousand men, who drew the sword 
For both the Houses and the Wo>d, 
Preached forth from hamlet, grange, 

and down. 
To curb the crosier and the crown, 
Now, stark and stiff, lie stretched in 

gore, 
And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
Thus fared it, when I left the fight. 
With the good Cause and Commons' 

right." 



" Disastrous news ! " dark Wyclifie 

said ; 
Assumed despondence, bent his head, 
While troubled joy was in his eye. 
The well-feigned sorrow to belie. — 
" Disastrous news ! — when needed 

most. 
Told ye not that your chiefs were lost? 
Complete the woful tale, and say. 
Who fell upon that fatal day ; 
What leaders of repute and name 
Bought by their death a deathless fame ? 
If such my direst foeman's doom, 
My tears shall dew his honored 

tomb. — 
No answer ? — Friend, of all our host. 
Thou know'st whom I should hate the 

most. 
Whom thou too, once, wert wont to 

hate. 
Yet leav'st me doubtful of his fate." — 
With look unmoved — "Of friend nr 

foe. 
Aught," answered Bertram, " wouldst 

thou know. 
Demand in simple terms and plain, 
A soldier's answer shalt thou gain ; 
For question dark, or riddle high, 
I have nor judgment nor reply." 



The wrath his art and fear suppressed, 
Nowblazed at once in Wycliffe's breast ; 
And brave, from man so meanly born. 
Roused his hereditary scorn. 
" Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody 

debt? 
Philip of Mortham, lives he yet? 
False to thy patron or thine oath, 
Trait'rous or perjured, one or both- 



192 



ROKEBY. 



Slave ! hast thou kept thy promise 

plight, 
To slay thy leader in the fight? " 
Then from his seat the soldier sprung, 
And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 
His grasp, as hard as glove of mail, 
Forced the red blood-drop from the 

nail — 
*' A health ! " he cried ; and, ere he 

quaffed. 
Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and 

laughed — 
*' Now, Oswald Wycliffe, speaks thy 

heart ! 
Now play'st thou well thy genuine 

part ! 
Worthy, but for thy craven fear, 
Like me to roam a buccaneer. 
What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 
If Mortham's wealth and lands be 

thine ? 
What carest thou for beleaguered York, 
If this good hand have done its work ? 
Or what though Fairfax and his best 
Are reddening Marston's swarthy 

breast, 
If Philip Mortham with them lie, 
Lending his life-blood to the dye ? — 
Sit, then ! and as mid comrades free 
Carousing after victory, 
When tales are told of blood and fear. 
That boys and women shrink to hear, 
From point to point I frankly tell 
The deed of death as it befell. 



" When purposed vengeance I forego, 
Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
And when an insult I forgive, 
Then brand me as a slave, and live ! — 
Philip of Mortham is with those 
Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 
Or whom more sure revenge attends. 
If numbered with ungrateful friends. 
As was his wont, ere battle glowed, 
Along the marshalled ranks he rode, 
And wore his visor up the while. 
I saw his melancholy smile. 
When, full opposed in front, he knew 
Where Rokebv's kindred banner flew. 
'And thus,' he said, 'will friends 

divide ! ' — 
I heard, and thought how, side by side, 
We two had turned the battle's tide, 



In many a well-debated field, 

Where Bertram's breast was Philip's ^h 

shield. ■] 

I thought on Darien's deserts pale, ^B 

Where death bestrides the evening 

gale ; 
How o'er my friend my cloak I threw, 
And fenceless faced the deadly dew ; 
I thought on Quariana's cliff. 
Where, rescued from our foundering 

skiff. 
Through the white breakers' wrath I 

bore 
Exhausted Mortham to the shore ; 
And, when his side an arrow found, 
I sucked the Indian's venomed wound. 
These thoughts like torrents rushed 

along. 
To sweep away my purpose strong. 



" Hearts are not flint, and flints are 

rent ; 
Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 
When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 
Be near him in the battle's roar, 
I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 
Lost was the war in inward strife. 
Debating Mortham's death or life. 
'T was then I thought, how, lured to 

come. 
As partner of his wealth and home. 
Years of piratic wandering o'er. 
With him I sought our native shore. 
But Mortham's lord grew far estranged 
From the bold heart with whom he 

ranged ; 
Doubts, horrors, superstitious fears. 
Saddened and dimmed descending 

years ; 
The wily priests their victim sought. 
And damned each free-born deed and 

thought. 
Then must I seek another home, 
My license shook his sober dome ; 
If gold he gave, in one wild day 
I revelled thrice the sum away. 
An idle outcast then I strayed. 
Unfit for tillage or for trade. 
Deemed, like the steel of rusted lance, 
Useless and dangerous at once. 
The women feared my hardy look, 
1 At my approach the peaceful shook ; 



ROKEBY. 



193 



The merchant saw my glance of flame, 
And locked his hoards when Bertram 

came ; 
Each child of coward peace kept far 
From the neglected son of war. 

XVIII. 

*' But civil discord gave the call. 
And made my trade the trade of all. 
By Mortham urged, I came again 
His vassals to the fight to train. 
What guerdon waited on my care? 
I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
Sour fanatics each trust obtained, 
And I, dishonored and disdained, 
Gained but the high and happy lot. 
In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ; 
Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
'T is honor bids me now relate 
Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 



" Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly 

part, 
Glance quick as lightning through the 

heart. 
As my spur pressed my courser's side, 
Philip of Mortham's cause was tried. 
And, ere the charging squadrons 

mixed, 
His plea was cast, his doom was fixed. 
I watched him through the doubtful 

fray 
That changed as March's moody day, 
Till, like a stream that bursts its bank, 
Fierce Rupert thundered on our flank. 
'Twas then, midst tumult, smoke, and 

strife. 
Where each man fought for death or 

life, 
'Twas then I fired my petronel, 
And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
One dying look he upward cast. 
Of wrath and anguish — 't was his last. 
Think not that there I stopped, to view 
What of the battle should ensue ; 
But ere I cleared that bloody press. 
Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
Monckton and Mitton told the news. 
How troops of Roundheads choked the 

Ouse 
And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 
13 



Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed, 
Yet when I reached the banks of Swale 
Had rumor learned another tale ; 
With his barbed liorse, fresh tidings say, 
Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day : 
But whether false the news or true, 
Oswald, I reck as light as you." 



Not then by Wycliffe might be shown, 
How his pride startled at the tone 
In which his complice, fierce and free, 
Asserted guilt's equality. 
In smoothest terms his speech he wove, 
Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
Promised and vowed in courteous sort, 
But Bertram broke professions short. 
" Wycliffe, be sure not here I stay. 
No, scarcely till the rising day ; 
Warned by the legends of my youth, 
I trust not an associate's truth. 
Do not my native dales prolong 
Of Percy Rede the tragic song. 
Trained forward to his bloody fall. 
By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall ? 
Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 
The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
And near the spot that gave me name, 
The moated mound of Risingham, 
Where Reed upon her margin sees 
Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees, 
Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
An outlaw's image on the stone ; 
Unmatched in strength, a giant he. 
With quivered back and kirtled knee. 
Ask how he died, that hunter bold. 
The tameless monarch of the wold, 
And age and infancy can tell, 
By brother's treachery he fell. 
Thus warned by legends of my youth, 
I trust to no associate's truth. 



" When last we reasoned of this deed. 
Naught, I bethink me, was agreed, 
Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
The wealth of Mortham we should share; 
Then list, while I the portion name. 
Our differing laws give each to claim. 
Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 
Her rules of heritage must own ; 
They deal thee, as to nearest heir, 
Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair, 



194 



ROKEBY. 



And these I yield : — do thou revere 
The statutes of the Buccaneer. 
Friend to the sea, and foeman sworn 
To all that on her waves are borne, 
When falls a mate in battle broil, 
His comrade heirs his portioned spoil ; 
When dies in fight a daring foe, 
He claims his wealth who struck the 

blow ; 
And either rule to me assigns 
Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ; 
Ingot of gold and diamond spark, 
Chalice and plate from churches borne, 
And gems from shrieking beauty torn. 
Each string of pearl, each silver bar. 
And all the wealth of western war. 
I goto search, where, dark and deep, 
Those Transatlantic treasures sleep. 
Thou must along — for, lacking thee. 
The heir will scarce find entrance free; 
And then farewell. I haste to try 
Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
When cloyed each wish, these wars afford 
Fresh work for Bertram's restless 

sword." 

XXII. 

An undecided answer hung 
On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
While his own troubled passions veer 
Through hatred, joy, regret, and fear ; — 
Joyed at the soul that Bertram flies, 
Hegrudged the murderer's mighty prize. 
Hated his pride's presumptuous tone. 
And feared to wend with him alone. 
At length that middle course to steer, 
To cowardice and craft so dear, 
" His charge," he said, "would ill allow 
His absence from the fortress now : 
Wilfrid on Bertram should attend. 
His son should journey with his friend. " 

XXIII. 

Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 
And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 
" Wilfrid, or thou, — 't is one to me. 
Whichever bears the golden key. 
Yet think not but I mark, and smile 
To mark, thy poor and selfish wile ! 
If injury from me you fear, 
What, Oswald Wycliffe> shields thee 
here ? 



I 've sprung from walls more high than 

these, 
I 've swam through deeper streams than 

Tees. 
Might I not stab thee ere one yell 
Could rouse the distant sentinel? 
Start not — it is not my design. 
But, if it were, weak fence were thine; 
And, trust me, that, in time of need. 
This hand hath done more desperate 

deed. 
Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering 

son ; 
Time calls, and I must needs be gone." 



Naught of his sire's ungenerous part 
Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
A heart too soft from early life 
To hold with fortune needful strife. 
His sire, while yet a hardier race 
Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace 
On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand. 
For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 
But a fond mother's care and joy 
Were centred in her sickly boy. 
No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
Showed the elastic spring of bloiid ; 
Hour after hour he loved to ])ore 
On Shakespeare's rich and varied lore. 
But turned from martial scenes and 

light. 
From FalstafTs feast and Percy's fight, 
To ponder Jaques' moral strain. 
And muse \vith Hamlet, wise in vain ; 
And weep himself to soft repose 
O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 



In youth he sought not pleasures found 
Byyouth in horse, and hawk, and hound, 
But loved the quiet joys that wake 
By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
In Deepdale's solitude to lie. 
Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 
To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 
Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
Such was his wont ; and there his dream 
Soared on some wild fantastic theme. 
Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring. 
Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
The enthusiast could no more subtani. 
And sad he sunk to earth asam. 



ROKEBY. 



I9S 



He loved, — as man}' a lay can tell, 
Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ; 
For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
The art unteacliable, untaught ; 
He loved, — his soul did nature frame 
For love, and fancy nursed the flame ; 
Vainly he loved, — for seldom swain 
Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
Silent he loved, — in every gaze 
Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
So mused liis life away till died 
His brethren all, their father's pride. 
Wilfrid is now the only heir 
Of all his stratagems and care. 
And destined, darkling, to pursue 
Ambition's maze by Oswald's clew. 

XXVII. 

Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
Matilda, heir of Rokeby's knight. 
To love her was an easy best. 
The secret empress of his breast ; 
To woo her was a harder task 
To one that durst not hope or ask. 
Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
In pity to her gentle slave : 
Friendship, esteem, and fair regard, 
And praise, the poet's best reward ! 
She read the tales his taste approved, 
And sung the lays he framed or loved ; 
Yet loath to nurse the fatal flame 
Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
The favoring glance to friendship due, 
Then grieved to see her victim's pain. 
And gave the dangerous smiles again. 



So did the suit of Wilfrid stand. 
When war's loud summons waked the 

land. 
Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
The woe-foreboding peasant sees ; 
In concert oft they braved of old 
The bordering Scot's incursion bold ; 
Frowning defiance in their pride. 
Their vassals now and lords divide. 
From his fair hall on Greta banks. 
The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks 
To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
Mortham, by marriage near allied, — 
His sister had been Rokeby's bride, 



Though /ong before the civil fray 
In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
Philip of Mortham raised his band. 
And marched at Fairfax's command : 
While Wycliffe, bound by many a train 
Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
Less prompt to brave the bloody field. 
Made Barnard's battlements his shield, 
Secured them with his Lunedale pow- 
ers. 
And for the Commons held the towers. 



The lovely heir of Rokeby's Knight 
Waits in his halls the event of fight ; 
For England's war revered the claim 
Of every unprotected name, 
And spared, amid its fiercest rage. 
Childhood and womanhood and age. 
But Wilfrid, son to Rokeby's foe, 
Must the dear privilege forego. 
By Greta's side, in evening gray, 
To steal upon Matilda's way, 
Striving, with fond hypocrisy. 
For careless step and vacant eye ; 
Calming each anxious look and glance, 
To give the meeting all to chance, 
Or framing as a fair excuse, 
The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
Something to give, to sing, to say. 
Some modem tale, some ancient lay. 
Then, while the longed-for minutes 

last, — 
Ah ! minutes quickly overpast ! — 
Recording each expression free, 
Of kind or careless courtesy. 
Each friendly look, each softer tone, 
As food for fancy when alone. 
All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
Wilfrid may lurk in Eastwood green, 
To watch Matilda's wonted round, 
While springs his heart at every sound. 
She comes ! — 't is but a passing sight, 
Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
She comes not — He will wait the hour, 
When her lamp lightens in the tower ; 
'Tis something yet, if, as she past. 
Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
" What is my life, my hope ? " he said ; 
" Alas I a transitory sh^^de." 



Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
For mastery in vain with love, 



196 



ROKEBY. 



Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
Of present woe and ills to come. 
While still he turned impatient ear 
From truth's intrusive voice severe. 
Gentle, indifferent, and subdued, 
In all but this, unmoved he viewed 
Each outward change of ill and good : 
But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild, 
WasFancy'sspoiledandwaywardchild; 
In her bright car she bade him ride. 
With one fair form to grace his side, 
Or, in some wild and lone retreat. 
Flung her high spells around his seat, 
Bathed in her dews his languid head, 
Her fairy mantle o'er him spread, 
For him her opiates gave to flow. 
Which he who tastes can ne'er forego, 
And placed him in her circle, free 
From every stern reality. 
Till, to the Visionary, seem 
Her day-dreams truth, and truth a 
dream. 



Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains. 
Winning from Reason's hand the reins; 
Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
And woe to those who train such youth, 
And spare to press the rights of truth, 
The mind to strengthen and anneal, 
While on the stithy glows the steel 1 
O teach him, while your lessons last. 
To judge the present by the past ; 
Remind him of each wish pursued, 
How rich it glowed with promised 

good ; 
Remind him of each wish enjoyed, 
How soon his hopes possession cloyed ! 
Tell him, we play unequal game, 
Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ; 
And, ere he strip him for her race. 
Show the conditions of the chase : 
Two sisters by the goal are set, 
Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
One disenchants the winner's eyes, 
And strips of all its worth the prize. 
Whi)e one augments its gaudy show, 
More to enhance the loser's woe. 
The victor sees his fairy gold. 
Transformed, when won, to drossy mold, 
But still the vanquished mourns his 

loss. 
And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 



More wouldst thou know — yon tower 

survey, 
Yon couch unpressed since parting day, 
Yon untrimmed lamp, whose yellow 

gleam 
Is mingled with the cold moonbeam. 
And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
The head reclined, the loosened hair. 
The limbs relaxed, the mournful air. — 
See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
Lightens his woe-worn cheek awhile, — 
'T is Fancy wakes some idle thought, 
To gild the ruin she has wrought ; 
For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, 
She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 
Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
Vain hope ! to see the sun arise. 
The moon with clouds is still o'ercast, 
Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
Another hour must wear away 
Ere the East kindle into day, 
And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
He tries the minstrel's magic power. 



TO THE MOON. 

Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 

Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
Hail, though the mists that o'er the& 
stream 

Lend to thy brow their sullen dye ! 
How should thy pure and peaceful eye 

Untroubled view our scenes below. 
Or how a tearless beam supply 

To light a world of war and woe ! 

Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 

As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
Each little cloud that dimmed thy brow 

Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
And of the shades I then could chide, 

Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
For, while a softer strain I tried, 

They hid my blush, and calmed my 
fear. 

Then did I swear thy ray serene 
Was formed to light some lonely dell, 



ROKEBY. 



197 



By two fond lovers only seen," 
Reflected from the crystal well, 

Or sleeping on their mossy cell, 
Or quivering on the lattice bright, 

Or glancing on their couch, to tell_ 
How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 



He starts — a step at this lone hour ! 
A voice ! — his father seeks the tower. 
With haggard look and troubled sense. 
Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
" Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep ad- 
dressed ? 
Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
Mortham has fallen on Marston-moor ; 
Bertram brings warrant to secure 
His treasures, bought by spoil and blood, 
For the state's use and public good. 
The menials will thy voice obey; 
Let his commission have its way. 
In ever}' point, in every word." — 
Then, in a whisper, — "Takethy sword ! 
Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
I hear his hasty step — farewell ! " 



CANTO SECOND. 



Far in the chambers of the west, 
The gale had sighed itself to rest ; 
The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
But pale, and soon to disappear. 
The thin gray clouds wax dimly light 
On Brusleton and Houghton height ; 
And the rich dale, that eastward lay. 
Waited the wakening touch of day. 
To give its woods and cultured plain. 
And towers and spires, to light again. 
But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless 

swell. 
And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-fell, 
And rock-beglrdled Gilmanscar, 
And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
While, as a livelier twilight falls. 
Emerge proud Barnard's bannered walls. 
High crowned he sits, in dawning pale. 
The sovereign of the lovely vale. 



What prospects, from his watch-tower 

high. 
Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 



Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
Down his deep woods the course of 

Tees, 
And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
Of summer vapors from the stream ; 
And ere he pace his destined hour 
By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower. 
These silver mists shall melt away. 
And dew the woods with glittering 

spray. 
Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
That mighty trench of living stone, 
And each huge trunk that, from the 

side, 
Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
Where Tees, full many a fathom low, 
Wears with his rage no common foe ; 
For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here, 
Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce ca- 
reer, 
Condemned to mine a channelled way, 
O'er solid sheets of marble gray. 



Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright, 
Shall rush upon the ravished sight ; 
But many a tributary stream 
Each from Its own dark dell shall 

gleam : 
Staindrop, who, fromher sylvan bowers, 
Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 
The rural brook of Egliston, 
And Balder, named from Odin's son : 
And Greta, to whose banks erelong 
We lead the lovers of the song ; 
And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild. 
And fairy Thorsglll's murmuring child, 
And last and least, but loveliest still. 
Romantic Deepdale's slender rill. 
Who in that dim-wood glen hath strayed. 
Yet longed for Roslln's magic glade ? 
Who, wandering there, hath sought to 

change 
Even for that vale so stem and strange. 
Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent. 
Through her green copse like spires are 

sent ? 
Yet, Albin, yet the praise be thine. 
Thy scenes and story to combine ! 
Thou bid'st him, who by Roslln strays. 
List to the deeds of other days ; 
'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st 

the cave, 
The refuge of thy champion brave ; 



igS 



ROKEBY. 



Giving each rock its storied tale. 
Pouring a lay for every dale, 
Knitting, as with a moral band, 
Thy native legends with thy land. 
To lend each scene the interest high 
Which genius beams from Beauty's eye. 



Bertram awaited not the sight 

Which sunrise shows from Barnard's 

height. 
But from the towers, preventing day, 
With Wilfrid took his early way. 
While misty dawn, and moonbeam 

pale. 
Still mingled in the silent dale. 
By Barnard's bridge of stately stone, 
The southern bank of Tees they won ; 
Their winding path then eastward cast, 
And Egliston's gray ruins passed : 
Each on his own deep visions bent, 
Silent and sad they onward went. 
Well may you think that Bertram's 

mood 
To Wilfrid savage seemed and rude ; 
Well may you think bold Risingham 
Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 
And small the intercourse, I ween, 
Such uncongenial souls between. 



Stem Bertram shunned the nearer way, 
Through Rokeby's park and chase that 

lay, 
And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 
They crossed by Greta's ancient bridge. 
Descending where her waters wind 
Free for a space and unconfined. 
As 'scaped from Briguall's dark-wood 

glen, 
She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 
There, as his eye glanced o'er the 

mound, 
Raised by that Legion long renowned. 
Whose votive shrine asserts their claim. 
Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
" Stern sons of war ! " sad Wilfrid 

sighed, 
" Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
What now of all your toils are known ? 
A grassy trench, a broken stone ! " — 
This to himself; for moral strain 
To Bertram were addressed in vain. 



Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
Awoke, when Rokeby's turrets high 
Were northward in the dawning seen 
To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
O then, though Spenser's self had 

strayed 
Beside him through the lovely glade, 
Lending his rich luxuriant glow 
Of fancy, all its charms to show. 
Pointing the stream rejoicing free, 
As captive set at liberty. 
Flashing her sparkling waves abroad. 
And clamoring joyful on her road ; 
Pointing where, up the sunny banks, 
The trees retire in scattered ranks. 
Save where, advanced before the rest. 
On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
As champions, when theirband is broke. 
Stand forth to guard the rearward post. 
The bulwark of the scattered host — 
All this, and more, might Spenser say. 
Yet waste in vain his magic lay, 
While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower. 
Whose lattice lights Matilda's bower 



The open vale is soon passed o'er, 
Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 
Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
A wild and darker course they keep, 
A stern and lone, yet lovely road, 
As e'er the foot of Minstrel trode ! 
Broad shadows o'er their passage fell. 
Deeper and narrower grew the dell ; 
It seemed some mountain, rent and 

riven, 
A channel for the stream had given. 
So high the cliffs of limestone gray 
Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way. 
Yielding, along their rugged base, 
A flinty footpath's niggard space. 
Where he who winds 'twixt rock and 

wave 
May hear the headlong torrent rave, 
And like a steed in frantic fit, 
That flings the froth from curb and bit, 
May view her chafe her waves to spray 
O'er every rock that bars her way. 
Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
Thick as the schemes of human pride 
That down life's current drive amain, 
As frail, as frothy, and as vain ! 



ROKEBY. 



199 



The ciifio that rear their haughty head 
High o'er the river's darksome bed 
Were now all naked, wild, and gray, 
Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
Here trees to every crevice clung. 
And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
And there all splintered and uneven, 
The shivered rocks ascend to heaven ; 
Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast. 
And wreathed its garland round their 

crest, 
Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
Its tendrils in the middle air. 
As pennons wont to wave of old 
O'er the high feast of Baron bold. 
When revelled loud the feudal rout, 
And the arched halls returned their 

shout ; 
Such and more wild is Greta's roar. 
And such the echoes from her shore. 
And so the ivied banners gleam. 
Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 

IX. 

Now from the stream the rocks recede, 

But leave between no sunny mead, 

No, nor the spot of pebbly sand, 

Oft found by such a mountain strand ; 

Forming such warm and dry retreat, 

As fancy deems the lonely seat. 

Where hermit, wandering from his cell. 

His rosary might love to tell. 

But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 

A dismal grove of sable yew. 

With whose sad tints were mingled 

seen 
The blighted fir's sepulchral green. 
Seemed that the trees their shadows 

cast 
The earth that nourished them to blast ; 
For never knew that swarthy grove 
The verdant hue that fairies love ; 
Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower. 
Arose within its baleful bower : 
The dank and sable earth receives 
Its only carpet from the leaves. 
That, from the withering branches cast. 
Bestrewed the ground with every blast. 
Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 
In this dark spot 't was twilight still, 
Save that on Greta's farther side 
Some straggling beams through copse- 
wood glide ; 



And wild and savage contrast made 
That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
With the bright tints of early day, 
Which, glimmering through the ivy 

spray. 
On the opposing summit lay. 



The lated peasant shunned the dell ; 
For Superstition wont to tell 
Of many a grizzly sound and sight, 
Scaring his path at dead of night. 
When Christmas logs blaze high and 

wide. 
Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 
While Curiosity and Fear, 
Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near, 
Till childhood's cheek no longer glows, 
And village maidens lose the rose. 
The thrilling interest rises higher, 
The circle closes nigh and nigher. 
And shuddering glance is cast behind, 
As louder moans the wintry wind. 
Believe, that fitting scene was laid 
For such wild tales in Mortham glade ; 
For who had seen, on Greta's side, 
By that dim light fierce Bertram stride, 
In such a spot, at such an hour, — 
If touched by Superstition's power. 
Might well have deemed that Hell had 

given 
A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 
While Wilfiid's form had seemed t« 

glide 
Like his pale victim by his side. 



Nor think to village swains alone 
Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
For not to rank nor sex confined 
Is this vain ague of the mind ; 
Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barred, 
Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
Beneath its universal sway. 
Bertram had listed many a tale 
Of wonder in his native dale, 
That in his secret soul retained 
The credence they in childhood gained ; 
Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
Believed in every legend's truth ; 
Learned when, beneath the tropic gale, 
Full swelled the vessel's steady saiL 



ROKEBY. 



And the broad Indian moon her light 
Poured on the watch of middle night, 
When seamen love to hear and tell 
Of portent, prodigy, and spell : 
What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, 
How whistle rash bids tempests roar, 
Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ; 
Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
When the dark scud comes driving hard, 
And lowered is every topsail yard. 
And canvas, wove in earthly looms. 
No more to brave the storm pre- 
sumes ! 
Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
Top and topgallant hoisted high, 
Full spread and crowded every sail. 
The Demon Frigate braves the gale ; 
And well the doomed spectators know 
The harbinger of wreck and woe. 



Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
Marvels and omens all their own : 
How, by some desert isle or key, 
Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty. 
Or where the savage pirate's mood 
Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
Strange nightly sounds of woe and fear 
Appalled the listening Buccaneer, 
Whoselight-armedshallopanchored Jh/ 
In ambush by the lonely bay. 
The groan of grief, the shriek of pain. 
Ring from the moonlight groves of 

cane ; 
The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
Who wearies memory for a prayer. 
Curses the roadstead, and with gale 
Of early morning lifts the sail, 
To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
A legend for another bay. 



Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, 
Trained in the mystic and the wild, 
A'ith this on Bertram's soul at times 
rlushed a dark feeling of his crimes ; 
Such to his troubled soul their form. 
As the pale Death-ship to the storm. 
And such their omen dim and dread, 
As shrieks and voices of the dead, — 
That pang, whose transitory force 
Hovered 'twixt horror and remorse — 



That pang, perchance, his bosom 

pressed, 
As Wilfrid sudden he addressed ; — 
" Wilfrid, this glen is never trod 
Until the sun rides high abroad : 
Yet twice have I beheld to-day 
A Form, that seemed to dog our way ; 
Twice from my glance it seemed td 

flee, 
And shroud itself by cliff or tree. 
How think'st thou ? — Is our path way- 
laid? 
Or hath thy sire my trust betrayed ? 
If so — " Ere, starting from his dream. 
That turned upon a gentler theme, 
Wilfrid had roused him to reply, 
Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 
" Whate'er thou art, thou now shall 

stand ! " — 
And forth he darted, sword in hand. 



As bursts the levin in its wrath. 

He shot him down the sounding path : 

Rock, wood, and stream rang wildly 

out 
To his loud step and savage shout. 
Seems that the object of his race 
Hath scaled the cliffs : his frantic chase 
Sidelong he turns, and now 't is bent 
Right up the rock's tali battlement ; 
Straining each sinew to ascend. 
Foot, hand, and knee their aid must 

lend. 
Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay, 
Views, from beneath, his dreadful way : 
Now to the oak's warped roots he clings, 
Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 
Now, like the wild goat, must he dare 
.An unsupported leap in air ; 
Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 
You mark him by the crashing bough. 
And by his corslet's sullen clank. 
And by the stones spurned from the 

bank. 
And by the hawk scared from her nest. 
And ravens creating o'er their guest, 
Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 
The tribute of his bold essay. 



See, he emerges ! — desperate now 
All farther course. — Yon beetling brow, 



I 



ROKEBV. 



In craggy nakedness sublime, 
What heart or foot shall dare to climb ? 
It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
Presents no angle to his grasp : 
Sole stay his foot may rest upon, 
Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
Balanced on such precarious prop, 
He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
Just as the dangerous stretch he makes. 
By heaven, his faithless footstool 

shakes ! 
Beneath his tottering bulk it bends, 
It sways, . . . it loosens, ... it descends ! 
And downward holds its headlong way. 
Crashing o'er rock and copse wood spray. 
Loud thunders shake the echoing dell, — 
Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
Just on the very verge of fate. 
The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
He trusted to his sinewy hands. 
And on the top, unharmed, he stands ! 



Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
At intervals, where, roughly hewed. 
Rude steps ascending from the dell 
Rendered the cliffs accessible. 
By circuit slow he thus attained 
The height that Risingham had gained. 
And when he issued from the wood. 
Before the gate of Mortham stood. 
'T was a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
On battled tower and portal gray : 
And from the grassy slope he sees 
The Greta flow to meet the Tees : 
Where, issuing from her darksome bed, 
She caught the morning's eastern red. 
And through the softening vale below 
Rolled her bright waves, in rosy glow, 
All blushing to her bridal bed, 
Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 



'T was sweetly sung, that roundelay ; 
That summer morn shone blithe and 

gav ; 
But morning beam, and wild-bird's call, 
Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
No porter, by the low-browed gate. 
Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
To the paved court no peasant drew ; 
Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 



The maiden's carol was not heard. 
As to her morning task she fared: 
In the void offices around. 
Rung not a hoof, nor bayed a hound ; 
Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh, 
Accused the lagging groom's delay ; 
Untrimmed, undressed, neglected now, 
Was alleyed walk and orchard bough ; 
All spoke the master's absent care, 
All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
South of the gate, an arrow flight, 
Two mighty elms their limbs unite. 
As if a canopy to spread 
O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
For their huge bows in arches bent 
Above a massive monument. 
Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise, 
With many a scutcheon and device : 
There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
Bertram stood pondering by the tomb. 



" It vanished like a flitting ghost ! 
Behind this tomb," he said, " 't was 

lost, — 
This tomb, where oft I deemed lies 

stored 
Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoard. 
'T 's true, the aged servants said 
Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
But weightier reasons may be guessed 
For their lord's strict and stern behest. 
That none should on his steps intrude. 
Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
An ancient mariner I knew, 
What time I sailed with Morgan's crew. 
Who oft, 'mid our carousals, spake 
Of Raleigh, Frobisher, and Drake ; 
Adventuroushearts! whobartered, bold. 
Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
Trust not, would his experience say, 
Captain or comrade with your prey ; 
But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 
There dig, and tomb your precious heap, 
And bid the dead your treasure keep ; 
Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
Their service to the task compel. 
Lacks there such charnel ? — kill a slave, 
Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave ; 
And bid his discontented ghost 
Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween 
Is in my morning vision seen." 



ROKEBY. 



Wilfred, who scorned the legend wild, 
In mingled mirth and pity smiled, 
Much marvelling that a breast so bold 
In such fond tale belief should hold ; 
But yet of Bertram sought to know 
The apparition's form and show. — 
The power within the guilty breast, 
Oft vanquished, never quite suppressed, 
That unsubdued and lurking lies 
To take the felon by surprise, 
And force him, as by magic spell 
In his despite his guilt to tell, — 
That power in Bertram's breast awoke : 
Scarce conscious he was heard, he 

spoke ; 
" 'T was Mortham's form, from foot to 

head ! 
His morion, with the plume of red, 
His shape, his mien, — 't was Mortham, 

right 
As when I slew him in the fight." — 
"Thou slajj him ? — thou ?" — With 

conscious start 
He heard, then manned his haughty 

heart, — 
" I slew hirn ? — I ! — I had forgot 
Thou, stripling, knew'stnot of the plot. 
But it is spoken ■ — nor will I, 
Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 
I slew him ; I ! for thankless pride ; 
'T was by this handthat Mortham died. " 



Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart. 
Averse to every active part. 
But most averse to martial broil, 
From danger shrunk, and turned from 

toil; 
Yet the meek lover of the lyre 
Nursed one brave spark of noble fire ; 
Against injustice, fraud, or wrong, 
His blood beat high, his hand waxed 

strong. 
Not his the nerves that could sustain. 
Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 
But, when that spark blazed forth to 

flame. 
He rose superior to his frame. 
And now it came, that generous mood ; 
And, in full current of his blood, 
On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 
Placed firm his foot, and drew his 

brand. 



" Should every fiend, to whom thou 'rt 

sold. 
Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
Arouse there, ho ! take spear and 

sword ! 
Attach the murderer of your lord ! " 

XXI. 

A moment, fixed as by a spell, 
Stood Bertram. — It seemed miracle. 
That one so feeble, soft, and tame, 
Set grasp on warlike Risingham. 
But when he felt a feeble stroke, 
The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's 

hand, 
To dash him headlong on the sand. 
Was but one moment's work, — one 

more 
Had drenched the blade in Wilfi-id's 

gore. 
But, in the instant it arose. 
To end his life, his love, his woes, 
A warlike form, that marked the scene, 
Presents his rapier sheathed between, 
Parries the fast-descending blow. 
And steps 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 
Nor then unscabbarded his brand. 
But, sternly pointing with his hand. 
With monarch's voice forbade the fight. 
And motioned Bertram from his sight. 
"Go, and repent," — he said, "while 

time 
Is given thee ; add not crime to crime. 



Mute, and uncertain, and amazed. 

As on a vision Bertram gazed ! 

'T was Mortham's bearing, bold and 

high, 
His sinewy frame, his falcon eye, 
His look and accent of command. 
The martial gesture of his hand. 
His stately form, square-built and tall. 
His war-bleached locks — 't was Mor- 
tham all. 
Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 
A thousand thoughts, and all of fear ; 
His wavering faith received not quite 
The form he saw as Mortham's sprite. 
But more he feared it, if it stood 
His lord, in living flesh and blood. — 
What spectre can t«he charnel send. 
So dreadful as an injured friend? 



ROKEBY. 



ao3 



Then, too, the habit of command, 
Used by the leader of the band, 
When Risingham, for many a day. 
Had marched and fought beneath his 

sway, 
Tamed him, — and, with reverted face, 
Backwards he bore his sullen pace : 
Oft stopped, and oft on Mortham stared, 
And dark as rated mastiff glared ; 
But when the tramp of steeds was 

heard. 
Plunged in the glen, and disappeared, 
Nor longer there the Warrior stood. 
Retiring eastward through the wood ; 
But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 
" Tell thou to none that Mortham lives. " 



Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 
Hinting he knew not what of fear : 
When nearer came the coursers' tread, 
And, with his father at their head. 
Of horsemen armed a gallant power 
Reined up their steeds before the tow- 
er. 
" Whence these pale looks, my son?" 

he said : 
"Where 's Bertram? — Why that naked 

blade?" 
Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 
(For Mortham's charge his honor tied,) 
" Bertram is gone — the villain's word 
Avouched him murderer of his lord ! 
Even now we fought — but, when your 

tread 
Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 
In Wycliffe's conscious eye appear 
A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 
On his pale brow the devvdrop broke, 
And his lip quivered as he spoke : — 



" A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died 
Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
Yet, grant such strange confession true. 
Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
Justice must sleep in civil war." 
A gallant Youth rode near his side. 
Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
That morn, an embassy of weight 
He brought to Barnard's castle gate, 
And followed now in Wycliffe's train, 
An answer for his lord to gain. 



His steed, whose arched and sable neck 
An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
Chafed not against the curb more high 
Than he at Oswald's cold reply ; 
He bit his lip, implored his samt, 
(His the old faith) — then burst re- 
straint : — 



" Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall. 
By that base traitor's dastard ball. 
Just when I thought to measure sword, 
Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's 

lord. 
And shall the murderer 'scape who slew 
His leader, generous, brave, and true? 
Escape, while on the dew you trace 
The marks of his gigantic pace? 
No ! ere the sun that dew shall dry, 
False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
Ring out the castle 'larum bell ! 
Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
Meantime disperse, — ride, gallants, 

ride ! 
Beset the wood on every side. 
But if among you one there be, 
That honors Mortham's memory, 
Let him dismount and follow me ! 
Else on your crests sit fear and shame, 
And foul suspicion dog your name ! " 



Instant to earth young Redmond 

sprung ; 
Instant on earth the harness rung 
Of twenty men of Wycliffe's band. 
Who waited not their lord's command. 
Redmond his spurs from buskins drew, 
His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
His pistols in his belt he placed. 
The green-wood gained, the footstepa 

traced. 
Shouted like huntsman to his hounds, 
"To cover, hark! " — and inhe bounds. 
Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious cry, 
" Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
But venture not, in useless strife, 
On ruffian desperate of his life. 
Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ! 
Five hundred nobles for his head ! " 



The horsemen galloped, to make good 
Each path that issued from the wood. 



204 



ROKEBY. 



Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 
With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire, 
And envying Redmond's martial fire, 
And emulous of fame. — But where 
Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir? 
He, bound by honor, law, and faith, 
Avenger of his kinsman's death? — 
Leaning against the elmin tree, 
With drooping head and slackened 

knee. 
And clenched teeth, and close-clasped 

hands. 
In agony of soul he stands ! 
His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
His soul to every sound is lent : 
For in each shout that cleaves the air, 
May ring discovery and despair. 



What 'vailed ithim, that brightly played 
The morning sun on Mortham's glade? 
All seems in giddy round to ride. 
Like objects on a stormy tide. 
Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 
Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
What 'vailed it, that the fair domain. 
Its battled mansion, hill, and plain. 
On which the sun so brightly shone. 
Envied so long, wai. now his own ? 
The lowest dungeon, in that hour. 
Of Brackenbury's dismal tower. 
Had been his choice, could such a doom 
Have opened Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
To each surmise of hope or fear, 
Murmured among the rustics round. 
Who gathered at the 'larum sound; 
He dared not turn his head away. 
E'en to look up to heaven to pray. 
Or call on hell, in bitter mood. 
For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 



At length, o'erpast that dreadful space. 
Back straggling came the scattered 

chase ; 
Jaded and weary, horse and man. 
Returned the troopers, one by one. 
Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say. 
All trace v/as lost of Bertram's way. 
Though Redmond still, up Brignall 

wood. 
The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 



O, fatal doom of human race ! 

What tyrant passions passions chase ! 

Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone, 

Avarice and pride resume their throne ; 

The pang of instant terror by. 

They dictate thus their slave's reply :— 

XXX. 

"Ay, — let him range like hasty hound\ 
And if the grim wolfs lair be found. 
Small is my care how goes the game 
With Redmond, or with Risingham. — 
Nay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
To thee, is of another mood 
To that bold youth of Erin's blood. 
Tliy ditties will she freely praise, 
And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ,- 
In a rough path will oft command — 
Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
His she avoids, or, urged and prayed, 
Unwilling takes his proffered aid, 
While conscious passion plainly speaks 
In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, 
And all her soul is in her eye ; 
Yet doubts she still to tender free 
The wonted words of courtesy. 
These are strong signs ! — yet wherefore 

sigh, 
And wipe, effeminate, thine eye ? 
Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
The counsels of thy sire and friend. 



" Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of 

light 
Brought genuine news of Marston's 

fight. 
Brave Cromwell turned the doubtful tide, 
And conquest blessed the rightful side ; 
Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 
Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
Must fine for freedom and estate. 
Of these, committed to my charge. 
Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 
Redmond, his page, arrived to say 
He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 
Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
Unless that maid compound with thee I 
Go to her now, — be bold of cheer. 
While her soul floats 'twixt hope and 

fear . 



ROKEBY. 



»os 



It is the very change of tide, 

When best the female heart is tried. — 

Pride, prejudice, and modesty 

Are in the current swept to sea ; 

And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 

May lightly row his bark to shore." 

CANTO THIRD. 
I. 
The hunting tribes of air and earth 
Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
Nature, who loves the claim of kind, 
Less cruel chase to each assigned. 
The falcon, poised on soaring wing, 
Watches the wild-duck by the spring ; 
The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair ; 
The greyhound presses on the hare ; 
The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
Even tiger fell, and sullen bear, 
Their likeness and their lineage spare ; 
Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan, 
And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 
Plying war's desultory trade. 
Incursion, flight, and ambuscade, 
Since Nimrod, Gush's mighty son. 
At first the bloody game begun. 



The Indian, prowling for his prey. 
Who hears the settlers track his way. 
And knows in distant forest far 
Camp his red brethren of the war ; 
He, when each double and disguise 
To baffle the pursuit he tries, 
Low crouching now his head to hide. 
Where swampy streams through rushes 

glide, 
Now covering with the withered leaves 
The footprints that the dew receives ; 
He, skilled in every sylvan guile, 
Knows not, nor tries, such various wile. 
As Risingham, when on the wind 
Arose the loud pursuit behind. 
In Redesdale his youth had heard 
Each art her wily dalesmen dared, 
When Rooken-edge, and Redswair 

high. 
To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry. 
Announcing Jedwood-axe and spear, 
And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 
And well his venturous life had proved 
The lessons that his childhood loved. 



Oft had he shown, in cliraes afar. 
Each attribute of roving war ; 
The sharpened ear, the piercing eye. 
The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
The speed, tliat in the flight of chase, 
Outstripped the Charib's rapid race ; 
The steady brain, the sinewy limb. 
To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
The iron frame, inured to bear 
Each dire inclemency of air. 
Nor less confirmed to undergo 
Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
These arts he proved, his life to save, 
In peril oft by land and wave, 
On Arawaca's desert shore, 
Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
When oft the sons of vengeful Spain 
Tracked the marauder's steps in vain. 
These arts, in Indian warfare tried. 
Must save him now by Greta's side. 



'T was then, in hour of utmost need, 
He proved his courage, art, and speed. 
Now slow he stalked with stealthy pace, 
Now started forth in rapid race. 
Oft doubling back in mazy train. 
To blind the trace the dews retain : 
Now clomb the rocks projecting high. 
To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 
Now sought the stream, whose brawling 

sound 
The echo of his footsteps drowned. 
But if the forest verge he nears. 
There trample steeds, and glimmer 

spears ; 
If deeper down the copse he drew. 
He heard the rangers' loud halloo. 
Beating each cover while they came, 
As if to start the sylvan game. 
'T was then — like tiger close beset 
At every pass with toil and net, 
'Countered, where'er he turns his glare. 
By clashing arms and torches' flare, 
Who meditates, witli furious bound. 
To burst on hunter,horse, and hound, — 
'T was then that Bertram's soul arose, 
Prompting to rush upon his foes : 
But as that crouching tiger, cowed 
Bybrandishedsteeland shouting crowd. 
Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 
Bertram suspends his purpose stern, 
And crouches in the brake and fern. 



2o6 



ROKEBY 



Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 
The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 



Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 
Who paused to list for every sound, 
Climbed every height to look around, 
Then rushing on with naked sword, 
Each dingle's bosky depths explored. 
'T was Redmond, — by the azure eye ; 
'T was Redmond, — by the locks that fly 
Disordered from his glowing cheek ; 
Mien, face, and form, young Redmond 

speak. 
A form more active, light, and strong, 
Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 
The modest, yet the manly mien, 
Might grace the court of maiden queen ; 
A face more fair you well might find, 
For Redmond'sknew thesun and wind, 
Nor boasted, from their tinge when free, 
The charm of regularit}'^ ; 
But every feature had the power 
To aid the expression of the hour ; 
Whether gay wit, and humor sly. 
Danced laughing in his light blue eye ; 
Or bended brow, and glance of fire, 
And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 
Or soft and saddened glances show 
Her ready sympathy with woe ; 
Or in that wayward mood of mind. 
When various feelings are combined. 
When joy and sorrow mingle near, 
And hope'sbright wings are checked by 

fear. 
And rising doubts keep transport down 
And anger lends a short-lived frown ; 
In that strange mood which maids ap- 
prove 
Even when they dare not call it love ; 
With every change his features played, 
As aspens show the light and shade. 



Well Risingham young Redmondknew ; 
And much he marvelled that the crew. 
Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead 
Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
For never felt his soul the woe, 
That wails a generous foeman low, 
Far less that sense of justice strong. 
That wreaks agenerousfoeman's wrong. 



But small his leisure now to pause ; 
Redmond is first, whate'er the cause ; 
And twice that Redmond came so near 
Where Bertram couched like hunted 

deer. 
The very boughs his steps displace, 
Rustled against the ruffian's face, 
Who, desperate, twice prepared to start 
And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
But Redmond turned a different way, 
Andthebentboughsresumedtheirsway, 
And Bertram held it wise, unseen, 
Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
When roving hunters beat the brake, 
Watches with red and glistening eye, 
Prepared, if heedless step draw nigh, 
With forked tongue and venomed fang 
Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
But if the intruders turn aside. 
Away his coils unfolded glide, 
And through the deep savannah wind, 
Some undisturbed retreat to find. 



But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
And heard the loud pursuit renew. 
And Redmond's hollo on the wind. 
Oft muttered in his savage mind, — 
" Redmond O'Neale ! were thou and I 
Alone this day's event to try, 
With not a second here to see. 
But the gray cliff and oaken tree, — 
That voice of thine, that shouts so loud. 
Should ne'errepeat its summons proud ! 
No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
Again in maiden's summer bower. " 
Eluded, now behind him die 
Faint and more faint each hostile cry ; 
He stands in Scargill wood alone, 
Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, 
Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
And on the dale, so lone and wild, 
The summer sun in quiet smiled. 



He listened long with anxious heart, 
Ear bent to hear, and foot to start. 
And, while hisstretchedattention glows. 
Refused his weary frame repose. 
' T was silence all, — he laid him down. 
Where purple heath profusely strewn. 



ROKEBY. 



207 



And throatwort with its azure bell, 
And moss and thyme, his cushion swell. 
There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 
The course of Greta's playful tide ; 
Beneath, her banks now eddying dun, 
Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 
As, dancing over rock and stone. 
In yellow light her currents shone. 
Matching in hue the favorite gem 
Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 
Then, tired to watch the current'splay, 
He turned his weary eyes away, 
To where the bank opposing showed 
Its huge, square cliffs through shaggy 

wood. 
One, prominent above the rest, 
Reared to the sun its pale gray breast ; 
Around its broken summit grew 
The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 
A thousand varied lichens dyed 
Its waste and weather-beaten side, 
And round its rugged basis lay, 
By time or thunder rent away, 
Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn, 
Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
Such was the scene's wild majesty. 
That filled stern Bertram's gazing eye. 



In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
Revolving, in his stormy mind, 
The felon deed, the fruitless guilt. 
His patron's blood by treason spilt : 
A crime, it seemed, so dire and dread. 
That it had power to wake the dead. 
Then, pondering on his life betrayed 
By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade, 
In treacherous purpose to withhold, 
So seemed it, Mortham'spromisedgold, 
A deep and full revenge he vowed 
On Redmond, forward, fierce, and 

proud ; 
Revenge on Wilfrid, — on his sire 
Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
If, in such mood, (as legends say, 
And well believed that simple day,) 
The Enemy of Man has power 
To profit by the evil hour, 
Here stooda wretch, prepared to change 
His soul's redemption for revenge ! 
But though his vows, with such a fire 
Of earnest and intense desire 
For vengeance dark and fell, were made, 
^s well might reach hell's lowest shade, 



No deeper cloudsthegrove embrowned. 
No nether tluinders shook the ground: 
The demon knew his vassal's heart, 
And spared temptation's needless art. 



Oft, mingled with the direful theme, 
Came Mortham's form — Was it a 

dream ? 
Or had he seen, in vision true. 
That very Mortham whom he slew? 
Or had in living flesh appeared 
The only man on earth he feared? 
To try the mystic cause intent, 
His eyes, that on the cliff were bent, 
'Countered at once a dazzling glance, 
Like sunbeam flashed from sword or 

lance. 
At once he started as for fight. 
But not a foenian was in sight ; 
He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse. 
He heard the river's soundmg course ; 
The solitary woodlands lay 
As slumbering in the summer ray. 
He gazed, like lion roused, around. 
Then sunk again upon the ground. 
'Twas but, he thought, some fitfuJ 

beam. 
Glance sudden from the sparkling 

stream ; 
Then plunged him in his gloomy train 
Of ill-connected thoughts again. 
Until a voice behind him cried, 
"Bertram ! well met on Greta side." 



Instant his sword was in his hand. 
As instant sunk the ready brand : 
Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 
To him that issued from the wood : 
" Guy Denzil ! — is it thou ? " he said ; 
" Do we two meet in Scargill shade ! — 
Stand back a space ! — thy purpose 

show. 
Whether thou comest as fi-iend or foe. 
Report hath said, that Denzil's name 
From Rokeby's band was razed with 

shame." — 
" A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 
Who told his knight, in peevish zeal. 
Of my marauding on the clowns 
Of Calverley and Bradford downs. 
I reck not. In a war to strive. 
Where, save the leaders, nonecan thrive, 



2o8 



ROKEBY 



Suits ill my mood ; and better game 
Awaits us both, if thou 'rt the same 
Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 
Who watched with me in midnightdark, 
To snatch a deer from Rokeby park. 
How think'st thou?" — "Speak thy 

purpose out ; 
I love not mystery or doubt." 



" Then list. — Not far there lurk a crew 
Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 
Gleaned from both factions, — Round- 
heads, freed 
From cant of sermon and of creed ; 
And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine, 
Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 
A warfare of our own to hold, 
Than breathe our last on battle-down 
For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
Thou art a wanderer, it is said ; 
For Mortham'sdeath, thy steps waylaid, 
Thy head at price, — so say our spies, 
Who range the valley in disguise. 
Join then with us : — though wild debate 
And wrangling rend our infant state. 
Each to an equal loath to bow. 
Will yield to chief renowned as thou." 



"Even now," thought Bertram, passion- 
stirred, 
"I called on hell, and hell has heard ! 
What lack I, vengeance to command. 
But of stanch comrades such a band ? 
This Denzil, vowed to every evil, 
Might read a lesson to the Devil. 
Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 
Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — 
Aloud, " I take thy proffer, Guy, 
But tell me where thy comrades lie ? " — 
" Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said ; 
" Descend, and cross the river's bed. 
Where rises yonder cliff so gray." 
"Do thou," said Bertram, "lead the 

way." 
Then muttered, " It is best make sure ; 
Guy Denzil's faith was never pure." 
He followed down the steep descent, 
Then through the Greta's streams they 
went ; 



And, when they reached the farther 

shore. 
They stood the lonely cliff before. 



With wonder Bertram heard within 
The flinty rock a murmured din ; 
But when Guy pulled the wilding spray, 
And brambles, from its base awaj'. 
He saw, appearing to the air, 
A little entrance, low and square. 
Like opening cell of hermit lone. 
Dark, winding through the living stone. 
Here entered Denzil, Bertram here ; 
And loud and louder on their ear. 
As from the bowels of the earth, 
Resounded shouts of boisterous mirth. 
Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 
In slaty rock the peasant hewed ; 
And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's 

wave, 
E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. 
Where, far within the darksome rift. 
The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
But war had silenced rural trade, 
And the deserted mine was made 
The banquet-hail and fortress too. 
Of Denzil and his desperate crew. — 
There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 
There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
Guilt-born Excess, the goblet drained 
Still in his slumbering grasp retained; 
Regret was there, his eye still cast 
With vain repining on the past ; 
Among the feasters waited near 
Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven. 
With his own crimes reproaching heav- 
en ; 
While Bertram showed, amid the crew, 
The Master- Fiend, that Milton drew. 



Hark ! the loud revel wakes again. 
To greet the leader of the train. 
Behold the group by the pale lamp. 
That struggles with the earthy damp. 
By what strange features Vice hath 

known, 
To single out and mark her own ! 
Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
Less deeply stamped her brand and stain. 
See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 
A mother's pride, a father's joy ! 



ROKEBY. 



ao9 



Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls re- 
clined, 
An early image fills his mind ; 
The cottage, once his sire's, he sees. 
Embowered upon the banks of Tees ; 
He views sweet Winston's woodland 

scene, 
And shares the dance on Gainford green. 
A tear is springing, — but tiie zest 
Of some wild tale, or brutal jest, 
Hath to loud laughter stirred the rest. 
On him they call, the aptest mate 
For jovial song and merry feat : 
Fast flies his dream, — with dauntless 

air. 
As one victorious o'er Despair, 
He bids the ruddy cup go round, 
Till sense ?nd sorrow both are drowned ; 
And soon, in merry wassail, he, 
The life of all their revelry. 
Peals his loud song! — The muse has 

*bund 
Her blossoms on the wildest ground. 
Mid noxious weeds at random strewed, 
Themselves all profitless and rude. 
With desperate merriment he sung, 
The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
Remorse's bitter agony. 



SONG. 

O, Brignall banks are wild and fair. 

And Greta woods are green. 
And you may gather garlands there. 

Would grace a summer queen. 
And as I rode by Dalton hall, 

Beneath the turrets high, 
A Maiden on the castle wall 

Was singing merrily, — 

CHORUS. 

" O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
And Greta woods are green ; 

I'd rather rove with Edmund there. 
Than reign our English queen." — 

" If, Maiden, thou would'st wend with 
me. 
To leave both tower and town, 
Thou first must guess what life lead we. 

That dwell by dale and down? 
And if thou canst that riddle read, 
As read full well you may, 

14 



Then to the greenwood shall thou speed, 
As blithe as Queen of May." — 

CHORUS. 

Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 
And Greta woods are green ; 

I 'd rather rove with Edmund there, 
Than reign our English queen. 



" I read you, by your bugle horn, 

And by your palfrey good, 
I read you for a ranger sworn. 

To keep the king's greenwood."- 
"A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 

And 't is at peep of light ; 
His blast is heard at merry morn, 

And mine at dead of night." — 



Yet sung she, *' Brignall banks are fair. 

And Greta woods are gay ; 
I would I were with Edmund there, 

To reign his Queen of May ! 

" Withburnishedbrandandmusketoon, 

So gallantly you come, 
I read you for a bold Dragoon, 

That lists the tuck of drum." — 
" I list no more the tuck of drum, 

No more the trumpet hear ; 
But when the beetle sounds his hum, 

My comrades take the spear. 

CHORUS. 

" And, O.though Brignall banks be fair, 

And Greta woods be gay, 
Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 

Would reign my Queen of May 1 



" Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 

A nameless death I '11 die ; 
The fiend, whose Ian tern lights the mead. 

Were better mate than I ! 
And when I 'm with my comrades met. 

Beneath the greenwood bough. 
What once we were we all forget. 

Nor think what we are now. 

CHORUS. 

" Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
And Greta woods are green. 

And you may gather garlands there 
Would grace a summer queen." 



ROKEBY. 



When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
Was silence on the sullen throng, 
Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
With note of coarser minstrelsy. 
But, far apart, in dark divan, 
Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
Of import foul and fierce, designed. 
While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
The wealth ofmurdered Mortham hung ; 
Though half he feared hisdaring tongue, 
When it should give his wishes birth, 
Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 



At length his wondrous tale he told : 
When, scornful, smiled his comrade 

bold; 
For, trained in license of a court. 
Religion's self was Denzil's sport ; 
Then judge in what contempt he held 
The visionary tales of eld ! 
His awe for Bertram scarce repressed 
The unbeliever's sneering jest 
" 'T were hard," he said, " for sage or 

seer, 
To spell the subject of your fear ; 
Nor do I boast the art renowned, 
Vision and omen to expound. 
Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
To spectre watching treasured hoard. 
As ban-dog keeps his master's roof. 
Bidding the plunderer stand aloof. 
This doubt remains, — thy goblin gaunt 
Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ; 
For why his guard on Mortham hold. 
When Rokeby castle hath the gold 
Thy patron won on Indian soil, 
By stealth, by piracy, and spoil?" 



At this he paused, — for angry shame 
Lowered on the brow of Risingham. 
Heblushedtothink, thathe shouldseem 
Assertor of an airy dream. 
And gave his wrath another theme. 
" Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid. 
Wrong not the memory of the dead'; 
For, while he lived, at Mortham'slook 
Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 
And when he taxed thy breach of word 
To yon fair rose of Allenford, 
I saw thee crouch like chastened hound, 
Whose back the huntsman's lash hath 
found. 



Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 
The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 
He won it bravely with his brand. 
When Spain waged warfare with our 

land. 
Mark, too, — I brook no idle jeer, 
Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 
Mine is but half the demon's lot, 
For I believe, but tremble not. — 
Enough of this. — Say, why this hoard 
Thou deem'st at Rokeby castle stored ; 
Or think'st that Mortham would bestow 
His treasure with his faction's foe? " 



Soon quenched was Denzil's ill-timed 

mirth ; 
Rather he would have seen the earth 
Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 
Than venture to awake to flame 
I'he deadly wrath of Risingham. 
Submiss he answered, — "Mortham's 

mind. 
Thou know'st, to joy was ill inclined. 
In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 
A lusty reveller was he ; 
But since returned from over sea, 
A sullen and a silent mood 
Hath numbed the current of his blood. 
Hence he refused each kindly call 
To Rokeby's hospitable hall. 
And our %tout knight, at dawn of mom 
Who loved to hear the bugle horn. 
Nor less, when eve his oaks embrowned, 
To see the ruddy cup go round, 
Took umbrage that a friend so near 
Refused to share his chase and cheer ; 
Thus did the kindred barons jar, 
Ere they divided in the war. 
Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 
Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." 



" Destined to her ! to yon slight maid I 
The prize my life had wellnigh paid, 
When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, 
I fought, my patron's wealth to save ! — 
Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
Knew him that joyous cavalier. 
Whom youthful friends and early fame 
Called soul of gallantry and game. 
A moody man, he sought our crew, 
Desi>erate and dark, whom no one 
knew ; 



ROKEBY. 



And rose, as men with us must rise, 
By scorning life and all its ties. 
On each adventure rash he roved, 
As danger for itself he loved ; 
On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
Could e'er one wrinkled knot untwine ; 
111 was the omen if he smiled, 
For 't was in peril stern and wild ; 
Butwhenhelaughed, each lucklessmate 
Might hold our fortune desperate. 
P'oremost he fought in every broil, 
Then scornful turned him from the spoil ; 
Nay, often strove to bar the way 
Between his comrades and their prey ; 
Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
Of mercy and humanity. 



" I loved him well, — his fearless part, 
His gallant leading, won my heart. 
And after each victorious fight, 
'T was I that wrangled for his right. 
Redeemed his portion of the prey 
That greedier mates had torn away : 
In field and storm thrice saved his life, 
And once amid our comrades' strife. — 
Yes, 1 have loved thee ! Well hath 

proved 
My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 
Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. 
Rise, if thou canst ! " he looked around, 
Andsternly stamped upon the ground, — 
" Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
Even as this morn it met mine eye, 
And give me, if thou darest, the lie ! " 
He paused, — then, calm and passion- 
freed. 
Bade Denzil with his tale proceed. 



" Bertram, to thee I need not tell. 
What thou hast cause to wot so well, 
How Superstition's nets were twined 
Around the Lord of Mortham's mind ; 
But since he drove thee from his tower, 
A maid he found in Greta's bower. 
Whose speech, like David's harp, had 

sway, 
To charm his evil fiend away. 
I know not if her features moved 
Remembrance of the wife he loved ; 



But he would gaze upon her eye. 
Till his mood softened to a sigh. 
He, whom no living mortal sought 
To question of his secret thought, 
Now every thought and care confessed 
To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
Nor was there aught of rich and rare. 
In earth, in ocean, or in air. 
But it must deck Matilda's hair. 
Her love still bound him unto life; 
But then awoke the civil strife. 
And menials bore, by his commands. 
Three coffers, with their iron bands, 
From Mortham's vault, at midnight 

deep. 
To her lone bower in Rokeby Keep, 
Ponderous with gold and plate of pride, 
His gift, if he in battle died." 



"Then Denzil, as T guess, lays train. 
These iron-banded chests to gain ; 
Else, wherefore should he hover here, 
Where many a peri! waits him near. 
For all his feats of war and peace. 
For plundered boors, and harts of greese? 
Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
What hearth has Guy's marauding 

spared, 
Or where the chase that hath not rung 
With Denzil'sbow, at midnightstrung? " 
" I hold my wont, — my rangers go. 
Even now to track a milk-white doe. 
By Rokeby hall she takes her lair, 
In Greta wood she harbors fair, 
And when my huntsman marks her way. 
What think'st thou, Bertram, of the 

prey? 
Were Rokeby's daughter in our power, 
We rate her ransom at her dower." 



" 'T is well ! — there's vengeance in the 

thought, 
Matilda is by Wilfrid sought ; 
And hot-brained Redmond, too, 't is 

said. 
Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
Bertramshescorned, — Ifmet by chance. 
She turned from me her shuddering 

glance, 
Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
On what she hates and loathes to look; 



ROKEBY. 



She told to Mortham she could ne'er 
Behold me without secret fear, 
Foreboding evil : — She may rue 
To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
The war has weeded Rokeby's train, 
Few followers in his halls remain ; 
If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 
We are enow to storm the hold ; 
Bear off the plunder, and the dame, 
And leave the castle all in flame." 



" Still art thou Valor's venturous son ! 
Yet ponder first the risk to run : 
The menials of the castle true 
And stubborn to their charge, though 

few. 
The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 
The wicket-grate — the inner fosse " — 
*' Fool ! if we blench for toys like these, 
On what fair guerdon can we seize ? 
Our hardiest venture, to explore 
Some wretched peasant's fenceless door. 
And the best prize we bear awaj', 
The earnings of his sordid day." 
" A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 
In sight of road more sure and fair, 
Thou would'st not choose, in blindfold 

wrath, 
Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 
List, then; — for vantage or assault. 
From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 
Each pass of Rokeby-house I know : 
There is one postern, dark and low, 
That issues at a secret spot. 
By most neglected or forgot. 
Now, could a spial of our train 
On fair pretext admittance gain. 
That sally-port might be unbarred : 
Then, vam were battlement and ward !" 

XXVIII. 

*' Now speak'st thou well : — to me the 

same 
If force or art shall urge the game ; 
Indifferent, if like fox I wind, 
Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 



But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
Troll forth another roundelay." 

SONG. 

"A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 

A weary lot is thine ! 
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 

And press the rue for wine ! 
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 

A feather of the blue, 
A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 

No more of me you knew. 

My love 1 
No more of me you knew. 

"This mom is merry June, I trow, 

The rose is budding fain ; 
But she shall bloom in winter snow, 

Ere we two meet again." 
He turned his charger as he spake, 

Upon the river shore, 
He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 

Said, " Adieu for evermore, 

My love ! 
And adieu for evermore." — 



" What youth is this, your band among, 
The best for minstrelsy and song? 
In his wild notes seem aptly met 
A strain of pleasure and regret." — 
" Edmund of Winston is his name ; 
The hamlet sounded with the fame 
Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
Now centered all in Brignall cave ! 
I watch him well, — his wayward course 
Shows oft a tincture of remorse 
Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, 
And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 
By fits, the darling and the jest. 
His harp, his story, and his lay. 
Oft aid the idle hours away : 
When unemployed, each fiery mate 
Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
He tuned his strings e'en now, — again 
He wakes them, with a blither strain." 



XXX. 

SONG. 



ALI,EN-A-DALE. 

Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 
Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 



ROKEBY. 



21J 



Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, 
Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, 
And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. 
The mere for his net, and the land for his game. 
The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight. 

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright ; 

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; 

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, 

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
The mother, she asked of his household and home ; 
" Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill. 
My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still ; 
'T is the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, 
And with all its bright spangles ! " said Allen-a-Dale. 

The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : 
He had laughed on the lass with his bonny black eye. 
And she fled to the forest to hear a love tale, 
And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale ! 



"Thou see'st that, whether sad or gay, 
Love mingles ever in his lay. 
But when his boyish wayward fit 
Is o'er, he hath address and wit ; 

! 't is a brain of fire, can ape 
Each dialect, each various shape." — 
" Nay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 
Soft ! who comes here .^ " — "My trusty 

spy. _ 
Speak, Hamlm ! hast thou lodged our 

deer?" — 
" I have, — but two fair stags are near. 

1 watched her, as she slowly strayed 
From Egliston up Thorsgill glade ; 
But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side. 
And then young Redmond, in his pride, 
Shot down to meet them on their way : 
Much, as it seemed, was theirs to say : 
There's time to pitch both toil and net, 
Before their path be homeward set." 
A hurried and a whispered speech 
Did Bertram's will to Deuzil teach ; 



Who, turning to the robber band, 
Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 

CANTO FOURTH. 

I. 

When Denmark's raven soared on high. 
Triumphant through Northumbrian 

sky. 
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke, 
And the broad shadow of her wing 
Blackened each cataract and spring, 
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source, 
Thundering o'er Caldron and High* 

Force ; 
Beneath the shade the Northmen came. 
Fixed on each vale a Runic name, 
Reared high their altar's rugged stone, 
And gave their Gods the land they 

won. 
Then, Balder, onebleak garth was thine, 
And one sweet brooklet's silver line, 



ai4 



ROKEBY. 



And Woden's Croft did title gain 
From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
That held in fight the foremost place, 
To Odin's son and Sifia's spouse, 
Near Stratforth high they paid their 

vows, 
Remembered Thor's victorious fame, 
And gave the dell the Thunderer's 

name. 

II. 
Yet Scald or Kemper erred, I ween, 
Who gave that soft and quiet scene. 
With all its varied light and shade, 
And every little sunny glade. 
And the blithe brook that strolls along 
Its pebbled bed with summer song, 
To the grim God of blood and scar, 
The grisly King of Northern War. 
O, better were its banks assigned 
To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
For where the thicket-groups recede, 
And the rath primrose decks the mead. 
The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
For the light fairies' lively feet. 
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown, 
Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly ; 
And where profuse the wood-vetch 

clings 
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
Its pale and azure-pencilled flower 
Should canopy Titania's bower. 



Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
Bul, skirting every sunny glade, 
In fair variety of green 
The woodland lends its sylvan screen. 
Hoarj', yet haughtj', frowns the oak, 
Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 
And towers erect, in sable spire. 
The pine-tree scathed by lightning- 
fire ; 
The drooping ash and birch, between, 
Hang their fair tresses o'er the green, 
And all beneath, at random grow 
Each coppice dwarf of varied show ; 
Or, round the stems profusely twined, 
Fling summer odors on the wind. 
Such varied group Urbino's hand 
Round Him of Tarsus nobly planned, 



What time he bade proud Athens own 
On Mars's Mount the God unknown ! 
Then gray Philosophy stood nigh. 
Though bent by age, in spirit high : 
There rose the scar-seamed veteran's 

spear. 
There Grecian Beauty bent to hear, 
While Childhood at her foot was placed, 
Or clung delighted to her waist. 



" And rest we here," Matilda said, 

And sat her in the varying shade. 

" Chance-met, we well may steal an 

hour, 
To friendship due from fortune's power. 
Thou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 
For to my care a charge is left. 
Dangerous to one of aid bereft, 
Wellnigh an orphan, and alone, 
Captive hersire, her house o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced. 
Beside her on the turf she placed ; 
Then paused, with downcast look and 

eye, 
Nor bade young Redmond seat him 

nigh. 
Her conscious diffidence he saw. 
Drew backward as in modest awe, 
And sat a little space removed, 
Unmarked to gaze on her he loved. 



Wreathed in its dark-brown rings her 

hair 
Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 
Half hid and half revealed to view 
Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
The rose, with faint and feeble streak, 
So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
That you had said her hue was pale ; 
But if she faced the summer gale, 
Or spoke, or sung, or quicker moved. 
Or heard the praise of those she loved, 
Or when of interest was expressed 
Aught that waked feeling in her breast. 
The mantling blood in ready play 
Rivalled the blush of rising day. 
There was a soft and pensive grace, 
A cast of thought upon her face, 



ROKEBY. 



2tS 



Tliat suited well the forehead high, 
The eyelash dark, and downcast eye ; 
The mild expression spoke a mind 
In duty firm, composed, resigned ; — 
'Tis that which Roman art has given, 
To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven. 
In hours of sport, that mood gave way 
To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 
And when the dance, or tale, or song. 
In harmless mirth sped time along. 
Full oft her doting sire would call 
His Maud the merriest of them all. 
But days of war, and civil crime, 
Allowed but ill such festal time, 
And her soft pensiveness of brow 
Had deepened into sadness now. 
In Marston field her father ta'en, 
Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham 

slain. 
While every ill her soul foretold. 
From Oswald's thirst of power and gold, 
And boding thoughts that she must part 
With a soft vision of her heart, — 
All lowered around the lovely maid, 
To darken her dejection's shade. 



Who has not heard, — while Erin yet 
Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit, — 
Who has not heard how brave O' Neale 
In English blood imbrued his steel. 
Against St. George's cross blazed high 
The banners of his Tanistry, 
To fiery Essex gave the foil, 
And reigned a prince on Ulster's soil? 
But chief arose his victor pride. 
When that brave Marshal fought and 

died. 
And Avon-Duff to ocean bore 
His billows red with Saxon gore. 
'T was first in that disastrous fight, 
Rokeby and Mortham proved their 

might. 
There had they fallen amongst the rest, 
But pity touched a chieftain's breast ; 
The Tanist he to great O' Neale ; 
He checked his followers' bloody zeal, 
To quarter took the kinsman bold. 
And bore them to his mountain hold, 
Gave them each sylvan joy to know, 
Sheve-Donald's cliffs and woods could 

show. 
Shared with them Erin's festal cheer. 
Showed them the chase of wolf and deer, 



And, when a fitting time was come, 
Safe and unransomed sent them home, 
Loaded with many a gift, to prove 
A generous foe's respect and love. 



Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 
Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
Calm he enjoyed, by Greta's wave. 
The peace which James the Peaceful 

gave, 
While Mortham far beyond the main. 
Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. 
It chanced upon a wintry night. 
That whitened Stanmore's stormy 

height, 
The chase was o'er, the stag was killed, 
In Rokeby hall the cups were filled. 
And by the huge stone chimney sate, 
The Knight in hospitable state. 
Moonless the sky, the hour was late, 
When a loud summons shook the gate, 
And sore for entrance and for aid 
A voice of foreign accent prayed. 
The porter answered to the call. 
And instant rushed into the hall 
A Man, whose aspect and attire 
Startled the circle by the fire. 



His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 
Around his bare and matted head ; 
On leg and thigh, close stretched and 

trim. 
His vesture showed the sinewy limb ; 
In saffron dyed, a linen vest 
Was frequent folded round his breast ; 
A mantle long and loose he wore. 
Shaggy with ice, and stained with gore. 
He clasped a burden to his heart. 
And, resting on a knotted dart. 
The snow from hair and beard he shook, 
And round him gazed with wildered 

look. 
Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 
He hastened by the blaze to place, 
Half lifeless from the bitter air. 
His load, a Boy of Beauty rare. 
To Rokeby next he louted low. 
Then stood erect his tale to show, 
With wild majestic port and tone, 
Like envoy of some barbarous throne. 
" Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear 1 
Turlough O'Neale salutes thee dear; 



2l6 



ROKEBY. 



He graces thee, and to thy care 
Young Redmond gives, his grandson 

fair. 
He bids thee breed him as thy son. 
For Turlough's days of joy are done ; 
And other lords have seized his land, 
And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
And all the glory of Tyrone 
Is like a morning vapor flown. 
To bind the duty on thy soul. 
He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
To Mortham tirst this charge was due, 
But, in his absence, honors you. — 
Now is my master's message by, 
And Ferraught will contented die." 



His look grew fixed, his cheek grew 

pale, 
He sunk when he had told his tale ; 
For, hid beneath his mantle wide, 
A mortal wound was in his side. 
Vain was all aid, — in terror wild, 
And sorrow, screamed the orphan Child. 
Poor Ferraught raised his wistful eyes, 
And faintly strove to soothe his cries ; 
All reckless of his dying pain, 
He blest, and blest him o'er again ! 
And kissed the little hands outspread, 
And kissed and crossed the infant head. 
And, in his native tongue and phrase, 
Prayed to each saint to watch his days ; 
Then all his strength together drew, 
The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
When half was faltered from his breast, 
And half by dying signs expressed, 
" Bless thee, O'Neale ! " he faintly said, 
And thus the faithful spirit fled. 



'T was long ere soothing might prevail 
Upon the Child to end the tale : 
And then he said, that from his home 
His grandsire had been forced to roam, 
Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
Hadbuthadstrength to draw the brand. 
The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
That hung beside the gray wolf's 

head. — 
'T was from his broken phrase descried. 
His foster father was his guide, 



Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
But ruffians met them in the wood, 
Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
Till wounded and o'erpowered at length. 
And stripped of all, his failing strength 
Just bore him here, — and then the child 
Renewed again bis moaning wild. 



The tear, down childhood's cheek that 

flows. 
Is like the dewdrop on the rose ; 
When next the summer breeze comesby 
And waves the bush, the flower is dry 
Won by their care, the orphan Child 
Soon on his new protector smiled. 
With dimpled cheek and eye so fair. 
Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
But blithest laughed that cheek andeye. 
When Rokeby's little Maid was nigh; 
'T was his, with elder brother's pride, 
Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
His native lays in Irish tongue 
To soothe her infant ear he sung, 
And primrose twined with daisy fair, 
To form a chaplet for her hair. 
By lawn, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 
The children still were hand in h?r.d, 
And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
The early knot so kindly tied. 



But summer months bring wilding 

shoot 
From bud to bloom, from bloom \.o 

fruit ; 
And years draw on our human span, 
From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
And soon in Rokeby's woods is seen 
A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
He loves to wake the felon boar, 
In his dark haunt on Greta's shore, 
And loves, against the deer so dun. 
To draw the shaft, or lift the gun : 
Yet more he loves, in autumn prime. 
The hazel's spreading boughs to climhi 
And down its clustered stores to hail, 
Where young Matilda holds her veil. 
And she, whose veil receives the showef. 
Is altered too, and knows her power; 
Assumes a monitress's pride, 
Her Redmond's dangerous sports t<» 

chide ; 



ROKEBY. 



217 



Yet listens still to hear him tell 

How the grim wild-boar fought and fell, 

How at his fall the bugle rung, 

Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 

Then blesses her, that man can find 

A pastime of sucii savage kind ! 



Rut Redmond knew to weave his tale 
So well with praise of wood and dale, 
And knew so well each point to trace. 
Gives living interest to the chase, 
And knew so well o'er all to throw 
His spirit's wild romantic glow, 
That, while she blamed, and while she 

feared. 
She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
To bower and hall their steps restrain, 
Together they explored the page 
Of glowing bard or gifted sage ; 
Oft, placed the evening fire beside, 
The minstrel art alternate tried. 
While gladsome harp and lively lay 
Bade winter night flit fast away : 
Thus from their childhood blending still 
Their sport, their study, and their skill, 
An union of the soul they prove, 
But must not think that it was love. 
But though they dared not, envious 

Fame 
Soon dared to give that union name ; 
And when so often, side by side. 
From year to year the pair she eyed, 
She sometimes blamed the good old 

Knight, 
As dull of ear and dim of sight, 
Sometimes his purpose would declare, 
That young O' Neale should wed his heir. 



The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
And bandage from the lovers' eyes ; 
Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
Had Rokeby's favor wellnigh won. 
Now must they meet with change of 

cheer. 
With mutual looks of shame and fear ; 
Now must Matilda stray apart. 
To school her disobedient heart ; 
And Redmond now alone must rue 
The love he never can subdue. 
But factions rose, and Rokehy sware, 
No rebel's son should wed his heir ; 



And Redmond, nurtured while a child 
In many a bard's traditions wild. 
Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
To cherish there a happier dream. 
Of maiden won by sword or lance. 
As in the regions of romance ; 
And count the heroes of his line, 
Great Nial of the Pledges Nine, 
Shane-Dymas wild, and Geraldine, 
And Connan-more, who vowed his race 
Forever to the fight and chase, 
And cursed him, of his lineage born. 
Should sheathe the sword to reap the 

corn. 
Or leave the mountain and the wold. 
To shroud himself in castled hold. 
From such examples hope he drew. 
And brightened as the trumpet blew. 



If brides were won by heart and blade, 
Redmond liad both his cause to aid. 
And all beside of nurture rare 
That might beseem a baron's heir. 
Turlough O' Neale, in Erin's strife. 
On Rokeby's Lord bestowed his life, 
And well didRokeby'sgenerous Knight 
Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
Nor was his liberal care and cost 
Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
Seek the North Riding broad and wide, 
Like Redmond none could steed be- 
stride ; 
From Tynemouth search to Cumber- 
land, 
Like Redmond none could wield a 

brand ; 
And then, of humor kind and free, 
And bearing him to each degree 
With frank and fearless courtesy. 
There never youth was formed to steal 
Upon the heart like brave O' Neale. 

XVI. 

Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
And when the days of peace were done. 
And to the gales of war he gave 
The banner of his sires to wave, 
Redmond, distinguished by his care, 
He chose that honored flag to bear, 
And named his page, the next degree 
In that old time to chivalry. 
In five pitched fields he well maintained 
The honored place his worth obtained. 



2l8 



ROKEBY. 



And highwasRedmond's youthful name 
Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
Had fortune smiled on Marston fight, 
The eve had seen him dubbed a knight ; 
Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife. 
Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life, 
But when he saw him prisoner made, 
He kissed and then resigned his blade, 
And yielded him an easy prey 
'I'o those who led the Knight away ; 
Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
In prison, as in fight, his love. 



When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
'T is like a sun-glimpse througli a shower, 
A watery ray, an instant seen 
The darkly closing clouds between. 
As Redmond on the turf reclined, 
The past and present filled his mind : 
" It was not thus," Affection said, 
" I dreamed of my return, dear maid ! 
Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 
I took the banner and the brand. 
When round me, as the bugles blew. 
Their blades three hundred warriors 

drew. 
And, while the standard I unrolled, 
Clashed their bright arms, with clamor 

bold. 
Where is that banner now? — its pride 
Lies whelmed in Ouse's sullen tide ! 
Where now these warriors? — in their 

gore. 
They cumber Marston's dismal moor ! 
And what avails a useless brand. 
Held by a captive's shackled hand, 
1 hat only would his life retain. 
To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! " 
Thus Redmond to himself apart ; 
Nor lighter was his rival's heart ; 
For Wilfrid, while his generous soul 
Disdained to profit by control, 
By many a sign could mark too plain. 
Save with such aid, his hopes were vain. 
But now Matilda's accents stole 
On the dark visions of their soul. 
And bade their mournful musing fly, 
Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 



" I need not to my friends recall. 
How Mortham shunned my father's 
hall; 



A man of silence and of woe. 
Yet ever anxious to bestow 
On my poor self whate er could prove 
A kinsman's confidence and love. 
My feeble aid could sometimes chase 
The clouds of sorrow for a space ; 
But oftener, fixed beyond my power 
I marked his deep despondence lower. 
One dismal cause, by all unguessed, 
His fearful confidence confessed ; 
And twice it was my hap to see 
Examples of that agony. 
Which for a season can o'erstrain 
And wreck the structure of the braiix 
He had the awful power to know 
The approaching mental overthrow, 
And while his mind had courage yet 
I'o struggle with the dreadful fit. 
The victim writhed against its throes. 
Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 
This malady, I well could mark, 
Sprung from some direful cause and 

dark ; 
But still he kept its source concealed. 
Till arming for the civil field ; 
Then in my charge he bade me hold 
A treasure huge of gems and gold. 
With this disjointed dismal scroll, 
That tells the secret of his soul, 
In such wild words as oft betray 
A mind by anguish forced astray. " 



MORTHAM S HISTORY. 

" Matilda ! thou hast seen me start, 
As if a dagger thrilled my heart. 
When it has happed some casual phrase 
Waked memory of my former days. 
Believe, that few can backward cast 
Their thoughts with pleasure on the 

past ; 
But I ! — my youth was rash and vain, 
And blood and rage my manhood stain, 
And my grey hairs must now descend 
To my cold grave without a friend 1 
Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 
And must I lift the bloody veil. 
That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease f 
Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
Thus haunted, think'st thou I have «kil) 
Thine own commission to fulfil ? 



ROKEBY. 



3^9 



Or, while thou point'st with gesture 

fierce, 
Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse, 
How can 1 paint thee as thou wert. 
So fair in face, so warm in heart ! — 



" Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thou 
Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
lUit hers was like the sunny glow, 
'I'hat laughs on earth and all below ! 
V^e wedded secret — there was need — 
Differing in country and in creed ; 
Andwhen to Mortham'stowershecame, 
We mentioned not her race and name. 
Until thy sire, who fought afar, 
S!iould turn him home from foreign war. 
On whose kind influence we relied 
To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
Few months we lived retired, unknown, 
To all but one dear friend alone, 
One darling friend, — I spare his shame, 
I will not write the villain's name ! 
My trespasses I might forget. 
And sue in vengeance for the debt 
Due by a brother worm to me, 
Ungrateful to God's clemency, 
That spared me penitential time, 
Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 



" A kindly smile to all she lent, 
But on her husband's friend 't was bent 
So kind, that from its harmless glee, 
The wretch misconstrued villany. 
Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 
A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 
Alone we sat, — the flask had flowed, 
My blood with heat unwonted glowed, 
Whenthrough the alleyed walk we spied 
With hurried step my Edith glide. 
Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 
As one unwilling to be seen. 
Words cannot paint the fiendish smile 
That curled the traitor's cheek the while 1 
Fiercely I questioned of the cause ; 
He made a cold and artful pause. 
Then prayed it might not chafe my 

mood, — 
' There was a gallant in the wood ! ' — 
We had been shooting at the deer ; 
My cross-bow i evil chance !) was near : 
That ready weapon of my wrath 
I caught, and, hasting up the path, 



In the yew grove my wife I found, 
A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 
1 marked his heart — the bow 1 drew — 
I loosed the shaft — 't was more than 

true ! 
I found my Edith's dying charms 
Locked in her murdered brother's armsl 
He came in secret to inquire 
Her state, and reconcile her sire. 



" All fled my rage, — the villain first, 
Whose craft my jealousy had nursed ; 
He sought in far and foreign clime 
To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
The manner of the slaughter done 
Was known to few, my guilt to none ; 
Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
I l;now not what — of shaft mis-aimed ; 
And even from those the act who knew. 
He hid the hand from which it flew. 
Untouched by human laws I stood, 
But God had heard the cry of blood \ 
There is a blank upon my mind, 
A fearful vision ill-defined. 
Of raving till my flesh was torn, 
Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn, — 
And when I waked to woe more mild. 
And questioned of my infant child, — 
(Have I not written, that she bare 
A boy, like summer morning fair.'') — 
With looks confused my menials tell 
That armed men in Mortham dell 
Beset the nurse's evening way, 
x\nd bore her, with her charge, away. 
My faithless friend, and none but he. 
Could profit by this villany ; 
Him then, I sought, with purpose dread 
Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
He 'scaped me, — but my bosom's wound 
Some faint relief from wandering found ; 
And over distant land and sea 
I bore my load of misery. 



" 'T was then that fate my footsteps lad 

Among a daring crew and dread. 
With whom full oft my hated life 
I ventured in such desperate strife, 
That even my fierce associates saw 
My frantic deeds with doubt and awe. 
Much then I learned, and much can 

show, 
Oi human guilt and human woe, 



ROKEBY. 



Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, 

known 
A wretch, whose sorrows matched my 

own ! — 
It chanced, that after battle fray, 
Upon the bloody field we lay ; 
The yellow moon her lustre shed 
Upon the wounded and the dead, 
While, sense in toil and wassail 

drowned, 
My ruffian comrades slept around, 
There came a voice — its silver tone 
Was soft, Matilda, as thine own — 
' Ah, wretch ! ' it said, ' what makest 

thou here, 
While unavenged my bloody bier. 
While unprotected lives mine heir. 
Without a father's name and care ? ' 



" I heard — obeyed — and homeward 

drew ; 
The fiercest of our desperate crew 
I brought, at time of need to aid 
My purposed vengeance, long delayed. 
But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 
That better hopes and thoughts has 

given, 
And by our Lord's dear prayer has 

taught, 
Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 
Let me in misery rejoice — 
I 've seen his face — I 've heard his 

voice — 
I claimed of him my only child — 
As he disowned the theft, he smiled ! 
That very calm and callous look. 
That fiendish sneer his visage took. 
As when he said, in scornful mood, 
' There is a gallant in the wood ! ' — 
I did not slay him as he stood, — 
All praise be to my Maker given ! 
Long sufferance is one path to heaven." 



Thus far the woful tale was heard. 
When something in the thicket stirred. 
Up Redmond sprung ; the villain Guy 
(For he it was that lurked so nigh) 
Drew back, — hedurst not cross hissteel 
A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
For all the treasured gold that rests 
In Mortham's iron-banded chests. 



Redmond resumed his seat ; — he saidj 
Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
Bertram laughed grimly when he saw 
His timorous comrade backward draw} 
" A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
A single arm, and aid so near ! 
Yet have 1 seen thee mark a deer. 
Give me thy carabine, — I '11 show 
An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
How thou may'st safely quell a foe." 



On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 
The spreading birch and hazels through, 
Till he had Redmond full in view ; 
The gun he levelled, — Mark like this 
Was Bertram never known to miss, 
When fair opposed to aim there sate 
An object of his mortal hate. 
That day young Redmond's death had 

seen. 
But twice Matilda came between 
The carabine and Redmond's breast, 
Just ere the spring his finger pressed. 
A deadly oath the ruffian swore. 
But yet his fell design forebore : 
" It ne'er," he muttered, "shall be said, 
That thus I scathed thee, haughty 

maid ! " 
Then moved to seek more open aim. 
When to his side Guy Denzil came : 
" Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 
Forever, if thou fire the gun. 
By all the fiends, an armed force 
Descends the dell, of foot and horse I 
We perish if they hear a shot, — 
Madman ! we have a safer plot, — 
Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee 

back ! 
Behold, down yonder hollow track 
The warlike leader of the band 
Comes, with his broadsword in his hand. 
Bertram looked up ; he saw, he knew 
That Denzil's fears had counselled true. 
Then cursed his fortune and withdrew. 
Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
And gained the cave on Greta side. 



They whom dark Bertram, in his wrath, 
Doomed to captivity or death. 
Their thoughts to one sad subject lent. 
Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 



ROKEBY. 



Heedless and unconcerned they sate, 
While on the very verge of fate ; 
Heedless and unconcerned remained, 
When Heaven the murderer's arm re- 
strained ; 
As ships drift darkling down the tide, 
Nor see the shelves o'er which they 

glide. 
Uninterrupted thus they heard 
What Mortham's closing tale declared. 
He spoke of wealth as of a load, 
By fortune on a wretch bestowed, 
In bitter mockery of hate. 
His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
But yet he prayed Matilda's care 
Might save that treasure for his heir, — 
His Edith's son, — for still he raved 
As confident his life was saved; 
In frequent vision, he averred. 
He saw his face, his voice he heard. 
Then argued calm, — had murder been. 
The blood, the corpses, had been seen ; 
Some had pretended, too, to mark 
On Windermere a stranger bark. 
Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild, 
Guarded a female and a child. 
While these faint proofs he told and 

pressed, 
Hope seemed to kindle in his breast ; 
Though inconsistent, vag^ue, and vain, 
It warped his judgment and his brain. 



These solemn words his story close : — 
" Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
My part in this sad civil fight, 
Moved by no cause but England's right. 
My country's groans have bid me draw 
My sword for gospel and for law ; 
These righted, I fling arms aside. 
And seek my son through Europe wide. 
My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
Already casts a grasping eye. 
With thee may unsuspected lie. 
When of my death Matilda hears. 
Let her retain her trust three years ; 
If none from me the treasure claim. 
Perished is Mortham's race and name. 
Then let it leave her generous hand. 
And flow in bounty o'er the land ; 
Soften the wounded prisoner's lot, 
Rebuild the peasant's ruined cot ; 
So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
Shall mitigate domestic war." 



The generous youths, who well had 

known 
Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone. 
To that high mind, by sorrow swerved, 
Gave sympathy his woes deserved : 
But Wilfrid chief, who saw revealed 
Why Mortham wished hislife concealed. 
In secret, doubtless, to pursue 
The schemes liis wildered fancy drew. 
Thoughtful he heard Matilda tell, 
That she would share her father's cell, 
His partner of captivity. 
Where'er his prison-house should be ; 
Yet grieved to think that Rokeby hall, 
Dismantled, and forsook by all. 
Open to rapine and to stealth. 
Had now no safeguard for the wealth 
Intrusted by her kinsman kind. 
And for such noble use designed. 
" Was Barnard Castle then her choice," 
Wilfrid inquired with hasty voice, 
" Since there the victor's laws ordain 
Her father must a space remain ? " 
A fluttered hope his accent shook, 
A fluttered joy was in his look. 
Matilda hastened to reply. 
For anger flashed in Redmond's eye ; 
" Duty," she said, with gentle grace, 
" Kind Wilfrid, has no choice of place ; 
Else had 1 for my sire assigned 
Prison less galling to his mind 
Than that his wild-wood haunts which 

sees 
And hears the murmur of the Tees, 
Recalling thus, with every glance, 
What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 
But where those woes are highest, there 
Needs Rokeby most his daughter's 

care." 



He felt the kindly check she gave, 
And stood abashed, — then answered 

grave : — 
" I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 
Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 
I have beneath mine own command. 
So wills my sire, a gallant band, 
And well could send some horsemen 

wight 
To bear the treasure forth by night. 
And so bestow it as you deem 
in these ill days may safest seem." — 



ROKEBY. 



" Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she 

said : 
" O, be it not one day delayed ! 
And, more thy sister friend to aid, 
Be thou thyself content to hold, 
In thine own keeping, Mortham'sgold, 
Safest with thee." While thus she 

spoke. 
Armed soldiers on their converse broke, 
The same of whose approach afraid, 
The rufSans left their ambuscade. 
Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
Then looked around as for a foe. 
" What mean'st thou, friend," young 

Wycliffe said, 
"Why thus in arms beset the glade? " 
" That would I gladly learn from you ; 
For up my squadron as I drew. 
To exercise our martial game 
Upon the moor of Barninghame, 
A stranger told you were waylaid, 
Surrounded, and to death betrayed. 
He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
I doubted not, and I obeyed." 



Wilfrid changed color, and, amazed. 
Turned short, and on the speaker gazed; 
While Redmond every thicket round 
Tracked earnest as a questing hound. 
And Denzil's carabine he found ; 
Sure evidence, by which they knew 
The warning was as kind as true. 
Wisest it seemed, with cautious speed 
To leave the dell. It was acreed. 
That Redmond, with Matilda fair. 
And fitting guard should home repair ; 
At nightfall Wilfrid should attend 
With a strong band his sister-friend. 
To bear with her from Rokeby's bowers 
To Barnard Castle's lofty towers. 
Secret and safe the banded chests. 
In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
This hasty purpose fixed, they part. 
Each with a grieved and anxious heart. 



CANTO FIFTH. 
I. 
The sultry summer day is done. 
The western hills have hid the sun, 



But mountain peak and village spirs 
Retain reflection of his fire. 
Old Barnard's towers are purple still, 
To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, 
Rich with the spoils of parting day. 
In crimson and in gold arrayed, 
Streaks yet a while the closing shade. 
Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
The tintswhich brighter hours had given. 
Thus aged men, full loath and slow, 
The vanities of life forego. 
And count their youthful follies o'er. 
Till memory lends her light no iwars. 



The eve, that slow on upland fades. 
Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 
Where, sunk within their banks pro- 
found. 
Her guardian streams to meeting 

wound. 
The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
Of noontide made a twilight brown, 
Impervious now to fainter light, 
Of twilight make an early night. 
Hoarse into middle air arose 
The vespers pf the roosting crows, 
And with congenial murmurs seem 
To wake the genii of the stream ; 
For louder clamored Greta's tide, 
And Tees in deeper voice replied, 
And fitful waked the evening wind, 
Fitful in sighs its breath resigned. 
Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured soul 
Felt in the scene a soft control, 
With lighter footsteps pressed the 

ground, 
And often paused to look around ; 
And, though his path was to his love, 
Could not but linger in the grove. 
To drink the thrilling interest dear, 
Of awful pleasure checked by fear. 
Such inconsistent moods have we, 
Even when our passions strike the key. 



Now, through the wood's dark mazes 

past. 
The opening lawn he reached at last, 
Where, silvered by the moonlight ray. 
The ancient Hall before him lay. 



ROKEBV. 



223 



Those martial terrors long were fled. 
That frowned of old around its head ; 
The battlements, the turrets gray, 
Seemed half abandoned to decay ; 
On barbican and keep of stone 
Stem Time the foeman'swork had done. 
Where banners the invader braved, 
The harebell now and wallflower waved: 
In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
Their weary hours the warders wore, 
Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze. 
On the paved floor the spindle plays ; 
The flanking guns dismounted lie, 
The moat is ruinous and dry, 
The grim portcullis gone, — and all 
The fortress turned to peaceful Hall. 



But yet precautions lately ta'en. 
Showed danger's day revived again ; 
The court-yard wall showed marks of 

care, 
The fall'n defences to repair, 
Lending such strength as might with- 
stand 
The insult of marauding band. 
The beams once more were taught to 

bear 
The trembling drawbridge into air, 
And not, till questioned o'er and o'er, 
For Wilfrid oped the jealous door. 
And when he entered, bolt and bar 
Kesumed their place with sullen jar ; 
Then, as he crossed the vaulted porch. 
The old grey porter raised his torch. 
And viewed him o'er, from foot to head, 
Ere to the hall his steps he led. 
That huge old hail, of knightly state, 
Dismantled seemed and desolate 
The moon through transom-shafts of 

stone, 
Which crossed the latticed oriels, shone, 
And by the mournful light she gave. 
The Gothic vault seemed funeral cave. 
Pennon and banner waved no more 
O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 
Nor glimmering arms were marshalled 

seen, 
To glance those sylvan spoils between. 
Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 
Accomplished Rokeby's brave array, 
But all were lost on Marston's day ! 
Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 
Where armor yet adorns the wall, 



Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
And useless in the modern fight ! 
Like veteran relic of the wars. 
Known only by neglected scars. 



Matilda soon to greet him came, 
And bade them light the evening flame ; 
Said, all for parting was prepared. 
And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
But then, reluctant to unfold 
His father's avarice of gold, 
He hinted, that lest jealous eye 
Should on their precious burden pry, 
He judged it best the castle gate 
To enter when the night wore late ; 
And therefore he had left command 
With those he trusted of his band. 
That they should be at Rokeby met, 
What time the midnight watch was set. 
Now Redmond came, whose anxious 

care 
Till then was busied to prepare 
All needful, meetly to arrange 
The mansion for its mournful change. 
With Wilfrid's care and kindness 

pleased, 
His cold unready hand he seized, 
And pressed it, till his kindly strain 
The gentle youth returned again. 
Seemed as between them this was said, 
" A while let jealousy be dead ; 
And let our contest be, whose care 
Shall best assist this helpless fair." 



There was no speech the truce to bind. 
It was a compact of the mind, 
A generous thought, at once impressed 
On either rival's generous breast. 
Matilda well the secret took. 
From sudden change of mien and look ; 
And — for not small had been her fear 
Of jealous ire and danger near — 
Felt, even in her dejected state, 
A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
They closed beside the chimney'sblaze, 
Andtalked, and hoped for happierdays, 
And lent their spirits' rising glow 
Awhile to gild impending woe ; — 
High privilege of youthful time. 
Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 
The bickering fagot sparkled bright, 
And gave the scene of love to sight, 



224 



ROKEBY. 



Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 
Played on Matilda's neck of snow, 
Her nut-brown curls and forehead 

high, 
And laughed in Redmond's azure eye. 
Two lovers by the maiden sate, 
Without a glance of jealous hate ; 
The maid her lovers sat between, 
With open brow and equal mien : 
It is a sight but rarely spied, 
Thanks to man's wrath and woman's 

pride. 

VII. 

While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
A knock alarmed the outer gate. 
And ere the tardy porter stirred. 
The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
A manly voice of mellow swell. 
Bore burden to the music well : — 

Song. 

" Summer eve is gone and past, 
Summer dew is falling fast ; 
I have wandered all the day. 
Do not bid me farther stray ! 
Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 
Take the wandering harper in ! " 

But the stern porter answer gave. 
With " Get thee hence, thou strolling 

knave ! 
The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow. 
Were meeter trade for such as thou." 
At this unkind reproof, again 
Answered theready Minstrel's strain : — 

Song resumed. 

" Bid not me, in battle-field. 
Buckler lift, or broadsword wield ! 
All my strength and all my art 
Is to touch the gentle heart. 
With the wizard notes that ring 
From the peaceful minstrel-string." — 

The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
"Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide; 
If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
Trust me, thou shalt not part so well." 



With somewhat of appealing look, 
The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 
"These notes so wild and ready thrill, 
They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 



Hard were his task to seek a home 
More distant, since the night is come ; 
And for his faith I dare engage — 
Your Harpool's blood is soured by 

age ; 
His gate, once readily displayed. 
To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
Now even to me, though known of old. 
Did but reluctantly unfold." — 
" O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime, 
An evil of this evil time. 
He deems dependent on his care 
The safety of his patron's heir. 
Nor judges meet to ope the tower 
To guest unknown at parting hour, 
Urgmg his duty to excess 
Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 
For this poor harper, I would fain 
He may relax: — Hark to his strain I" — > 

IX. 

SC'NG RESUMED. 

" I have song of war for knight. 
Lay of love for lady bright, 
Fairy tale to lull the heir. 
Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
Dark the night, and long till day, 
Do not bid me farther stray 1 

" Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
I can count them name by name ; 
Legends of their line there be. 
Known to few, but known to me ; 
If you honor Rokeby's kin. 
Take the wandering harper in ! 

" Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
For the harp, and for th^ bard ; 
Baron's race throve never well, 
Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
If you love that noble kin, 
Take the weary harper in ! " — 

"Hark! Harpool parleys, — there \ 

hope," 
Said Redmond, " that the gate will 

ope." — 
— " For all thy brag and boast, I trow, 
Naught know'st thou ofthe Felon Sow." 
Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
She roamed, and Rokeby forest wide ; 
Nor how Ralph Rokeby gave the beast 
To Richmond's friars to make a least. 
Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
Goes, and of gallant Peter Dais, 



ROKEBY. 



225 



That well could strike with sword amain, 
And of tlie valiant son of Spain, 
Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph : 
There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
If thou canst tell it, in yon shed, 
Thou'st »von thy supper and thy bed." 



Matilda smiled ; " Cold hope," said she, 
" From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
But, for this harper, may we dare, 
Redmond, to mend bis couch and 

fare ? — 
— "O, ask me not! — At minstrel-string 
My heart from infancy would spring ; 
Nor can 1 hear its simplest strain, 
But it brings Erin's dream again. 
When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
(The Filea of O'Neale was he, 
A blind and bearded man, whose eld 
Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
I' ve seen a ring of rugged kerne, 
With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern, 
Enchanted by the master's lay. 
Linger around the livelong day. 
Shift from wild rage to wilder glee, 
To love, to grief, to ecstasy, 
And feel each varied change of soul 
Obedient to the bard's control. — 
Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no 

more : 
Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze, 
Tell maiden's love or hero's praise ! 
The mantling brambles hide thy hearth, 
Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
All undistinguished in the glade, 
My sires' glad home is prostrate laid, 
Their vassals wander wide and far. 
Serve foreign lords in distant war, 
And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! " 
He spoke, and proudly turned aside, 
The starting tear to dry and hide. 



Matilda's dark and softened eye 
Was glistening ere O'Neale's was dry. 
Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 
" It is the will of Heaven," she said. 
" And think'st thou, Redmond, I can 

part 
From this loved home with lightsome 

heart, 

15 



Leaving to wild neglect whate'er 
Even from my infancy was dear? 
For in this calm domestic bound 
Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 
That hearth, my sire was wont to 

grace, 
Full soon may be a stranger's place ; 
This hall, in which a child I played. 
Like thine, dear Redmond, lowly laid, 
The bramble and the thorn may braid ; 
Or, passed for aye from me and mine, 
It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 
Yet is this consolation given. 
My Redmond, — 't is the will of Heav- 
en." 
Her word, her action, and her phrase. 
Were kindly as in early days ; 
For cold reserve had lost its power, 
In sorrow's sympathetic hour. 
Young 'Redmond dared not trust his 

voice ; 
But rather had it been his choice 
To share that melancholy hour, 
Than, armed with all a chieftain's 

power. 
In full possession to enjoy 
Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 

XII. 

The blood left Wilfrid's ashen cheek, 
Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
" Happy in friendship's ready aid, 
Let all my murmurs here be staid ! 
And Rokeby's maiden will not part 
From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 
This night at least, for Rokeby's fame. 
The hospitable hearth shall flame, 
And, ere its native heir retire. 
Find for the wanderer rest and fire. 
While this poor harper, by the blaze. 
Recounts the tale of other days. 
Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 
Admit him, and relieve each need. — 
Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 
Thy minstrel skill ? — Nay, no reply — 
And look not sad! — I guess thy thought. 
Thy verse with laurels would be bought; 
And poor Matilda, landless now, 
Has not a garland for thy brow. 
True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's 

glades. 
Nor wander more in Greta's shades ; 
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou 
Wilt a short prison-walk allow, 



226 



ROKEBY. 



Where summer flowers grow wild at 

will, 
On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill ; 
Then holly green and lily gay 
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay." 
The mournful youth, a space aside, 
To tune Matilda's harp applied ; 
And then a low sad descant rung, 
As prelude to the lay he sung. 



THE CYPRESS WREATH. 

O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
Too lively glow the lilies light, 
The varnished holly 's all too bright. 
The May-flower and the eglantine 
May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me, 
Or weave it of the cypress-tree ! 

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle-bough bids lovers live, 
But that Matilda will not give : 
Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
With heath and harebell dipped in dew- 
On favored Erin's crest be seen 
Theflowershelovesof emerald green, — 
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me. 
Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

Strike the wild harp, while maids pre- 
pare 
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair ; 
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves. 
With bloody hands the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
But when you hear the passing-bell. 
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me. 
And twine it of the cypress-tree ! 

Yes ! twine for me the cypress-bough ; 
But, O Matilda, twine not now ! 
Stay till a few brief months are past. 
And I have looked and loved my last ! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue, — 



Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress-tree. 



O'Neale observed the starting tear. 
And spoke with kind and blithesome 

cheer : — 
" No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day 
When mourns the land thy silent lay. 
Shall many a wreath be freely wove 
By hand of friendship and of love. 
I would not wish that rigid Fate 
Had doomed thee to a captive's state. 
Whose hands are bound by honor's 

law, 
Who wears a sword he must not draw; 
But were it so, in minstrel pride 
The land together would we ride. 
On prancing steeds, like harpers old, 
Bound for the halls of barons bold ; 
Each lover of the lyre we 'd seek. 
From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's 

Peak, 
Survey wild Albin's mountain strand, 
And roam green Erin's lovely land, 
While thou the gentler souls should 

move, 
With lay of pity and of love, 
And L thy mate, in rougher strain, 
Would sing of war and warriors slain. 
Old England's bards were vanquished 

then. 
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornder. 
And, silenced on lemian shore, 
M'Curtin's harp should charm no 

more ! " 
In lively mood he spoke, to wile 
From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile. 



" But," said Matilda, " ere thy name. 
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame, 
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 
Thy brother minstrel to the hall ? 
Bid all the household, too, attend. 
Each in his rank a humble friend ; 
I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 
When their poor Mistress takes her 

leave : 
So let the horn and beaker flow 
To mitigate their parting woe." 
The harper came ; — in youth's first 

prime 
Himself; in mode of olden time 



ROKEBY. 



227 



His garb was fashioned, 10 express 
The ancient English minstrel's dress, 
A seemly gown of Kendal green, 
With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 
His harp in silken scarf was slung, 
And by his side an anlace hung. 
It seemed some masquer's quaint array, 
For revel or for holiday. 



He made obeisance with a free 
Yet studied air of courtesy. 
Each look and accent, framed to please, 
Seemed to affect a playful ease ; 
His face was of that doubtful kind, 
That wins the eye, but not the mind ; 
Yet harsh it seemed to deem amiss 
Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
His was the subtle look and sly. 
That, spying all, seems naught to spy : 
Round all the group his glances stole, 
Unmarked themselves, to mark the 

whole. 
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look, 
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
To the suspicious, or the old, 
Subtle and dangerous and bold 
Had seemed this self-invited guest ; 
But young our lovers, — and the rest, 
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
At parting of their Mistress dear, 
Tear-blinded, to the Castle hall, 
Came as to bear her funeral pall. 



All that expression base was gone. 
When waked the guest his minstrel 

tone ; 
It fled at inspiration's call. 
As erst the demon fled from Saul. 
More noble glance he cast around, 
More free-drawn breath inspired the 

sound, 
His pulse beat bolder and more high. 
In all the pride of minstrelsy 1 
Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 
Sunk with the lay that oade it soar ! 
His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 
Its vices wild and follies vain. 
And gave the talent, with him bom. 
To be a common curse and scorn. 
Such was the youth whom Rokeby's 

Maid, 
With condescending kindness, prayed 



Here to renew the strain she loved, 
At distance heard, and well approved. 



THE HARP. 

I was a wild and wayward boy, 

M y childhood scorned each ch ildish toy ; 

Retired from all, reserved and coy. 

To musing prone, 
I wooed my solitary joy, 

My Harp alone. 

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
Despised the humble stream and wood. 
Where my poor father's cottage stood, 

To fame unknown ; — 
What should my soaring views make 
good? 

My Harp alone ! 

Love came with all his frantic fire, 
And wild romance of vain desire : 
The baron's daughter heard my lyre, 

And praised the tone ; — 
What could presumptuous hope inspire ? 

My Harp alone ! 

At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
And manhood's pride the vision curst, 
And all that had my folly nursed 

Love's sway to own ; 
Yet spared the spell that lulled me first, 

My Harp alone ! 

Woe came with war, and want with 

woe ; 
And it was mine to undergo 
Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 

Can aught atone 

My fields laid waste, my cot laid low? 

My Harp alone ! 

Ambition's dream I 've seen depart, 
Have rued of penury the smart. 
Have felt of love the venomed dart. 

When hope was flown ; 
Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 

My Harp alone ! 

Then over mountain, moor, and hill. 
My faithful Harp, I '11 bear thee still ; 
And when this life of want and ill 

Is wellnigh gone. 
Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill. 

My Harp alone 1 



9St8 



ROKEBY. 



" A pleasing lay ! " Matilda said ; 
But Harpool shook his old gray head, 
And took his baton and his torch, 
To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
Edmund observed, with sudden change, 
Among the strings his fingers range. 
Until they waked a bolder glee 
Of milit?.ry melody ; 
Then paused amid the martial sound, 
And looked with well- feigned fear 
around ; — 



" None to this noble house belong," 
He said, " that would a Minstrel wrong. 
Whose fate has been, through good and 

ill. 
To love his Royal Master still : 
And, with your honored leave, would 

fain 
Rejoice you with a loyal strain." 
Then, as assured by sign and look, 
The warlike tone again he took ; 
And Harpool stopped, and turned to 

hear 
A ditty of the Cavalier. 



THE CAVALIER. 

While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, 
My true love has mounted his steed and away. 
Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down ; 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown I 

He has doffed the silk doublet the breastplate to bear. 
He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long-flowing hair, 
From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down, — 
Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crowi I 

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws, 

Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause ; 

His watchword is honor, his pay is renown, — 

God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown ! 

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all 
The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town. 
That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. 

There 's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ; 
There's Erin's high Ormond and Scotland's Montrose ! 
Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Browa, 
With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown ? 

Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 

Be his banner unconquered, resistless his spear, 

Till in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown. 

In a pledge to fair England, her Church, and her Crown. 



" Alas ! " Matilda said, " that strain. 
Good Harper, now is heard in vain ! 
The time has been, at such a sound. 
When Rokeby's vassals gathered rounv^. 
An hundred manly hearts would bound : 
But now, the stirring verse we hear. 
Like trump in dying soldier's ear 1 



Listless and sad the notes we own, 
The power to answer ^hem is flown. 
Yet not without his meet applause 
Be he that sings the rfghtful cause. 
Even when the crisis of its fate 
To human eye seems desperate. 
While Rokeby's Heir such power re« 

♦•ains, 
Let this slight guerdon pay *hy pain* : -■ 



ROKEBY. 



229 



And, lend thy harp ; I fain would try 
If my poor skill can aught supply, 
Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall. 
To mourn the cause in which we fall." 



The harper, with a downcast look, 
And trembling hand, her bounty took. — 
As yet, the conscious pride of art 
Hadsteeled him in his treacherous part ; 
A powerful spring, of force unguessed, 
That hath each gentler mood sup- 
pressed, 
And reigned in many a human breast ; 
From his that plans the red campaign. 
To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
The failing wing, the bloodshot eye, — 
The sportsman marks with apathy, 
Each feeling of his victim's ill 
Drowned in his own successful skill. 
The veteran, too, who now no more 
Aspires to head the battle's roar. 
Loves still the triumph of his art. 
And traces on the pencilled chart 
Some stern invader's destined way, 
Through blood and ruin, to his prey ; 
Patriots to death, and towns to flame, 
He dooms, to raise another's name. 
And shares the guilt, though pot the 

fame. 
What pays him for his span of time 
Spent in premeditating crime ? 
What against pity arms his heart ? — 
It is the conscious pride of art. 



But principles in Edmund's mind 
Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
His soul, like bark with rudder lost. 
On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power 
Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
And, O ! when Passion rules, how rare 
The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
Yet now she roused her, — for the pride, 
That lack of sterner guilt supplied. 
Could scarce support him when arose 
The lay that mourned Matilda's woes. 

SCKG. 
THE FAREWELL. 

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear, 
They mingle with the song : 



Dark Greta's voice is 'n mine ear, 
I must not hear them long. 

From every loved and native haunt 
The native Heir must stray. 

And, like a ghost whom sunbeams 
daunt. 
Must part before the day. 

Soon from the halls my fathers reared, 

Their scutcheons may descend, 
A line so long beloved and feared 

May soon obscurely end. 
No longer here Matilda's tone 

Shall bid those echoes swell ; 
Yet shall they hear her proudly own 

The cause in which we fell. 

The Lady paused, and then again 
Resumed the lay in loftier strain. — 



Let our halls and towers decay, 

Be our name and line forgot, 
Lands and manors pass away, — 

We but share our Monarch's lot. 
If no more our annals show 

Battles won and Banners taken. 
Still in death, defeat, and woe, 

Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 

Constant still in danger's hour. 

Princes owned our fathers' aid ; 
Lands and honors, wealth and power, 

Well their loyalty repaid. 
Perish wealth, and power, and pride 1 

Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
But let Constancy abide. 

Constancy 's the gift of Heaven. 



While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirred. 
In peasant life he might have known 
As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
But village notes could ne'er supply 
That rich and varied melody ; 
And ne'er in cottage maid was seen 
The easy dignity of mien. 
Claiming respect, yet waving state. 
That marks the daughters of the great. 
Yet not, perchance, had these alone 
His scheme of purposed guilt o'er 

thrown ; 
But while her energy of mind 
Superior rose to griefs combined, 



230 



ROKEBY. 



Lending its kindling to her eye, 

(jiving her form new majesty, — 

I'o Edmund's thought Matilda seemed 

The very object he had dreamed ; 

When, longereguilt his soul had known, 

In Winston bowers he mused alone. 

Taxing his fancy to combine 

The face, the air, the voice divine, 

Of Princess fair, by cruel fate 

Reft of her honors, power, and state, 

Till to her rightful realm restored 

By destined hero's conquering sword. 

XXVI. 

" Such was my vision ! " Edmund 

thought ; 
" And have I, then, the ruin wrought 
Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 
In fairest vision formed her peer? 
Was it my hand that could unclose 
The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
Foes, lost to honor, law, and faith, 
Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 
Have I done this ? I ! who have swore, 
That if the globe such angel bore, 
I would have traced its circle broad. 
To kiss the ground on which she trod ! — 
And now — O, would that earth would 

rive. 
And close upon me while alive ! — 
Is there no hope ? — is all then lost? — 
Bertram 's already on his post ! 
Even now,beside the Hall's arched door, 
I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 
He was to wait my signal strain, — 
A little respite thus we gain : 
By what I heard the menials say. 
Young Wycliffe's troop are on their 

way, — 
Alarm precipitates the crime ! 
My harp must wear away the time." — 
And then, in accents faint and low, 
He faltered forth a tale of woe. 



BALLAD. 

"Andwhitherwouldyouleadme then?" 
Quoth the Friar of orders gray ; 

And the Ruffians twain replied again, 
" By a dying woman to pray." — 

•* I see," he said, " a lovely sight, 

A sight bodes little harm, 
A lady as a lily bright, 

With an infant on her arm." — 



" Then do thine office. Friar gray, 
And see thou shrive her free ! 

Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 
Fling all its guilt on thee. 

" Let mass be said, and trentals read. 
When thou 'rt to convent gone. 

And bid the bell of St. Benedict 
Toll out its deepest tone." 

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 

. Blindfolded as he came, — 
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 
Were weeping for their dame. 

Wild Darrell is an altered man, 
The village crones can tell ; 

He looks pale as clay, andstrives to pray 
If he hears the convent bell. 

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way. 
He '11 beard him in his pride, — 

If he meet a Friar of orders gray, 
He droops and turns aside. 



" Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 
Matilda said, "can goblins raise I 
Wellnigh my fancy can discern. 
Near the dark porch a visage stem ; 
E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 
I see it ! — Redmond, Wilfred, look ! — 
A human form distinct and clear, — 
God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near ! " 
She saw too true. Stride after stride. 
The centre of that chamber wide 
Fierce Bertram gained ; then made a 

stand. 
And, proudly waving with his hand. 
Thundered, — " Be still, upon your 

lives ! — 
He bleeds who speaks, he dies who 

strives." 
Behind their chief the robber crew 
Forth from the darkened portal drew 
In silence, — save that echo dread 
Returned their heavy measured tread. 
The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
Their arms to gleam, their plumes to 

wave ; 
File after file in order pass. 
Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 
Then, halting at their leader's sign. 
At once they formed and curved theil 

Vine, 



ROKEBY. 



%\i 



Hemming within its crescent drear 
Their victims, like a herd of deer. 
Another sign, and to the aim 
Levelled at once their muskets came, 
As waiting but their chieftain's word 
fo make their fatal volley heard. 



Back in a heap the menials drew ; 
Yet, even in mortal terror, true. 
Their pale and startled group oppose 
Between Matilda and the foes. 
" O, haste thee, Wilfrid ! " Redmond 

cried ; 
" Undo that wicket by thy side ! 
Bear hence Matilda, — gam the wood, — 
The pass may be a while made good, — 
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh — 
O, speak not, — dally not, — but fly ! " 
While yet the crowd their motions hide. 
Through the low wicket door they glide. 
Through vaulted passages they wind, 
In Gothic intricacy twined ; 
Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 
Matilda to the postern door, 
And safe beneath the forest tree, 
The Lady stands at liberty. 
The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 
Renewed suspended consciousness : — 
"Where's Redmond?" eagerly she 

cries : 
" Thou answerest not, — he dies ! he 

dies ! 
And thou hast left him, all bereft 
Of mortal aid, — with murderers left ! 
I know it well, — he would not yield 
His sword to man, — his doom is sealed ! 
For my scorned life, which thou hast 

bought 
At price of his, I thank thee not." 



The unjust reproach, the angry look. 
The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 
" Lady," he said, " my band so near. 
In safety thou may'st rest thee here. 
For Redmond's death thou shalt not 

mourn, 
If mine can buy his safe return." 
He turned away, — his heart throbbed 

high. 
The tear was bursting from his eye ; 
The sense of her injustice pressed 
Upon the Maid's distracted breast, — 



" Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain ! '* 
He heard, but turned him not again ! 
He reaches now the postern-door, 
Now enters, — and is seen no more. 



With all the agony that e'er 
Was gendered 'twixt suspense and fear. 
She watched the line of windows tall. 
Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 
Distinguished by the paly red 
The lamps in dim reflection shed. 
While all beside in wan moonlight. 
Each grated casement glimmered white. 
No sight of harm, no sound of ill, 
It is a deep and midnight still. 
Who looked upon the scene, had guessed 
All in the Castle were at rest, — 
When sudden on the windows shone 
A lightning flash, just seen and gone ! 
A shot is heard, — again the flame 
Flashed thick and fast, — a volley came ! 
Then echoed wildly, from within. 
Of shout and scream the mingled din. 
And weapon clash and maddening cry, 
Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 
As filled theHall with sulphurous smoke. 
More red, more dark, the death-flash 

broke ; 
And forms were on the lattice cast. 
That struck, or struggled, as they past. 



What sounds upon the midnight wind 
Approach so rapidly behind ? 
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds, 
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds, 
Seizes upon the leader's rein, — 
" O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 
Fly to the postern, — gain the Hall ! " 
From saddle spring the troopers all ; 
Their gallant steeds at liberty. 
Run wild along the moonlight lea. 
But, ere they burst upon the scene. 
Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
When Bertram marked Matilda's flight, 
It gave the signal for the fight ; 
And Rokeby's veterans, seamed with 

scars 
Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars, 
Their momentary panic o'er. 
Stood to the arms which then they bore ; 
(For they were weaponed, and prepared 
Their mistress on her way to guard.i 



232 



ROKEBY. 



Then cheered them to the fight O' Neale, 
Then pealed the shot, and clashed the 

steel ; 
The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
Darkened the scene of blood and death, 
While on the few defer ^rs close 
The Bandits, with redoubled blows, 
And, twice driven back, yet fierce and 

fell 
Renew the charge with frantic yell. 



Wilfrid has fallen, — but o'er him stood 
Young Redmond, soiled with smoke 

and blood. 
Cheering his mates with heart and hand 
Still to make good their desperate 

stand. — 
" Up, comrades, up ! In Rokeby halls 
Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
What ! faint ye for their savage cry. 
Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your 

eye ? 
These rafters have retirmed a shout 
As loud at Rokeby's wassail rout. 
As thick a smoke these hearths have 

given 
At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. 
Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 
For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
These slaves ! they dare not, hand to 

hand, 
Bide buffet from a true man's brand." 
Impetuous, active, fierce, and young, 
Upon the advancing foes he sprung. 
Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
His brandished falchion's sheer de- 
scent ! 
Backward they scattered as he came. 
Like wolves before the levin flame, 
When, 'mid their howling conclave 

driven, 
Hath glanced the thunderbolt ofheaven. 
Bertram rushed on, — but Harpool 

clasped 
His knees, although in death he gasped. 
His falling corpse before him flung. 
And round the trammelled ruffian clung. 
Just then, the soldiers filled the dome, 
And, shouting, charged the felons home 
So fiercely, that, in panic dread. 
They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled. 
Bertram's stern voice they heed no more, 
Though heard above the battle's roar ; 



While, trampling down the dying man, 
He strove, with volleyed threat and ban, 
In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
To rally up the desperate fight. 



Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold, 
Than e'er from battle-thunders rolled, 
So dense, the combatants scarce know 
To aim or to avoid the blow. 
Smothering and blindfold grows th« 

fight, — 
But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! 
Mid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
The hollow sound of rushing flame ; 
New horrors on the tumult dire 
Arise, — the Castle is on fire ! 
Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand, 
Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
Matilda saw, — for frequent broke 
From the dim casements gustsof smoke. 
Yon tower, which late so clear defined 
On the fair hemisphere reclined, 
That, pencilled on its azure pure, 
The eye could count each embrasure. 
Now, swathed within the sweeping 

cloud, 
Seems giant-spectre in his shroud : 
Till, from each loophole flashing light, 
A spout of fire shines ruddy bright. 
And, gathering to united glare, 
Streams high into the midnight air; 
A dismal beacon, far and wide 
That wakened Greta's slumbering side. 
Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
And pendent arch, the fire flashed strong, 
Snatching whatever could maintain, 
Raise, or extend its furious reign ; 
Startling, with closer cause of dread, 
The females who the conflict fled, 
And now rushed forth upon the plain, 
Pilling the air with clamors vain. 



But ceased not yet, the Hall within, 
The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din. 
Till bursting lattices give proof 
The flames have caught the raftered roof. 
What ! wait they till its beams amain 
Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 
The alarm is caught, — the drawbridge 

falls, ■ 
The warriors hurry from the walls. 



ROKEBY. 



233 



But, by the conflagration's light, 
Upon the lawn renew the fight. 
Each straggling felon down was hewed,. 
Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 
But forth the affrighted harper sprung. 
And to Matilda's robe he clung. 
Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 
Stopped the pursuer's lifted hand. 
Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 
The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 



And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high, 
The general flame ascends the sky ; 
In gathered group the soldiers gaze 
Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
When, like infernal demon, sent 
Red from his penal element. 
To plague and to pollute the air, — 
His face all gore, on fire his hair. 
Forth from the central mass of smoke 
The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
His brandished sword on high he rears, 
Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
Round his left arm his mantle trussed, 
Receivedandfoiled three lances' thrust; 
Nor these his headlong course with- 
stood. 
Like reeds he snapped the tough ash- 
wood. 
In vain his foes around him clung; 
With matchless force aside he flung 
Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay, 
Tosses the ban-dogs from his waj', 
Through forty foes his path he made, 
And safely gained the forest glade. 



Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
When from the postern Redmond bore 
Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 
Had in the fatal Hall been left, 
Deserted there by all his train ; 
But Redmond saw, and turned again. — 
Beneath an oak he laid him down, 
That in the blaze gleamed ruddy brown. 
And then his mantle's clasp undid; 
Matilda held his drooping head. 
Till, given to breathe the freer air, 
Returning life repaid their care. 
He gazed on them with heavy sigh, — 
" I could have wished even thus to die !" 
No more he said, — for now with speed 
Each trooper had regained his steed ; 



The ready palfreys stood arrayed, 
For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
Two Wilfrid on his horse sustain. 
One leads his charger by the rein. 
But oft Matilda looked behind, 
As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
Where far the mansion of her sires 
Beaconed the dale with midnight fires. 
In gloomy arch above them spread. 
The clouded heaven lowered bloody 

red ; 
Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
Appeared to roll in waves of blood. 
Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
A space the conflagration drowned ; 
Till, gathering strengtli, again it rose, 
Announced its triumph in its close. 
Shook wide its light the landscape 

o'er, 
Then sunk — and Rokeby was no more ! 



CANTO SIXTH. 



The summer sun, whose early power 
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower. 
And rouse her with his matin ray 
Her duteous orisons to pay. 
That morning sun has three times seen 
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green. 
But sees no more the slumbers fly 
From Fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
That morning sun has three times broke 
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak, 
But, rising from their sylvan screen, 
Marks no .gray turrets glance between. 
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower. 
That, hissing to the morning shower, 
Can but with smouldering vapor pay 
The early smile of summer day. 
The peasant, to his labor bound, 
Pauses to view tlie blackened mound, 
Striving, amid the ruined space, 
Each well-remembered spot to trace. 
Tliat length of frail and fire-scorchecj 

wall 
Once screened the hospitable hall ; 
When yonder broken arch was whole, 
'T was there was dealt the weekly dole; 
And where yon tottering columns nod 
The chapel sent the hymn to God.— 



234 



ROKEBY. 



So flits the world's uncertain span ! 
Nor zeal for God, nor love for man, 
Gives mortal monuments a date 
Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
The towers must share the builder's 

doom ; 
Rum is theirs, and his a tomb : 
But better boon benignant Heaven 
To Faith and Charity has given, 
And bids the Christian hope sublime 
Transcend the bounds of Fate and 

Time. 

II. 

Now the third night of summer came, 
Since that which witnessed Rokeby's 

flame. 
On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
The owlet's homilies awake, 
The bittern screamed from rush and 

flag, 
The raven slumbered on his crag, 
Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
Grayling and trout their tyrant knew. 
As between reed and sedge he peers, 
With fierce round snout and sharpened 

ears. 
Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool. 
Watches the stream or swims the 

pool ; — 
Perched on his wonted eyrie high, 
Sleep sealed the tercelet's wearied eye, 
That all the day had watched so well 
The cushat dart across the dell. 
In dubious beam reflected shone 
That lofty cliff of pale gray stone, 
Beside whose base the secret cave 
To rapine late a refuge gave. 
The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 
On Greta's breast dark shadows threw ; 
Shadows that met or shunned the sight. 
With every change of fitful light ; 
As hope and fear alternate chase 
Our course through life's uncertain 

race. 



Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
A solitary form was seen 
To trace with stealthy pace the wold. 
Like fox that seeks the midnight fold, 
And pauses oft, and cowers dismayed. 
At every breath that stirs the shade. 
He passes now the ivy bush, — 
The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 



He passes now the doddered oak,— 
Ye heard the startled raven croak ; 
J-ower and lower he descends. 
Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends; 
The otter hears him tread the shore, 
And dives, and is beheld no more ; 
And by the clifif of pale gray stone 
The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
A well-remembered form and face ! 
That stripling shape, that cheek so 

pale. 
Combine to tell a rueful tale. 
Of powers misused, of passion's force, 
Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
'T is Edmund's eye, at every sound 
That flings that guilty glance around ; 
'T is Edmund's trembling haste divides 
The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
'T is Edmund's foim that enters there. 



His flint and steel have sparkled bright, 
A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
Each angle of the gloomy maze. 
Since last he left that stern abode. 
It seemed as none its floor had trod ; 
Untouched appeared the various spoil. 
The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 
Masks and disguises grimed with mud. 
Arms broken and defiled with blood. 
And all the nameless tools that aid 
Night-felons in their lawless trade. 
Upon the gloomy walls were hung, 
Or lay in nooks obscurely flung. 
Still on the sordid board appear 
The relics of the noontide cheer ; 
Flagons and empty flasks were there. 
And bench o'erthrown, and shattered 

chair; 
And all around the semblance showed. 
As when the final revel glowed. 
When the red sun was setting fast. 
And parting pledge Guy Denzil past. 
"To Rokeby treasure-vaults!" they 

quaffed. 
And shouted loud and wildly laughed, 
Poured maddening from the rocky doof; 
And parted — to return no more ! 
They found in Rokeby vaults theV 

doom, — 
A bloody death, a burning tomb ! 



ROKEBY. 



235 



There his own peasant dress he spies, 
Doffed to assume that quaint disguise ; 
And shuddering thought upon his glee, 
When pranked in garb of minstrelsy. 
" O, be the fatal art accurst," 
He cried, " that moved my folly first ; 
Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 
1 burst through God's and Nature's 

laws ! 
Three summer days are scantly past 
Since I have trod this cavern last, 
A thoughtless wretch, and prompt to 

err, — 
But, O, as yet no murderer ! 
Even now I list my comrades' cheer, 
That general laugh is in mine ear. 
Which raised my pulse and steeled my 

heart. 
As I rehearsed my treacherous part, — 
And would that all since thencouldseem 
The phantom of a fever's dream ! 
But fatal Memory notes too well 
The horrors of the dying yell, 
From my despairing mates that broke. 
When flashed the fire and rolled the 

smoke ; 
When the avengers shouting came. 
And hemmed us 'twixt the sword and 

flame ! 
My frantic flight, — the lifted brand, — 

That angel's interposing hand ! 

If, for my life from slaughter freed, 
I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
Perchance this object of my quest 
May aid" — he turned, nor spoke the 

rest. 



Due northward from the rugged hearth, 
With paces five he meets the earth, 
Then toiled with mattock to explore 
The entrails of the cavern floor, 
Nor paused till, deep beneath the 

ground. 
His search a small steel casket found. 
Just as he stooped to loose its hasp 
His shoulder felt a giant grasp ; 
He started, and looked up aghast, 
Then shrieked ! — 'T was Bertram held 

him fast. 
" Fear not ! " he said; but who could 

hear 
That-deep stern voice, and cease to fear? 



" Fear not ! — By heaven, he shakes as 

much 
As partridge in the falcon's clutch" : — 
He raised him, and unloosed his hold, 
While from the opening casket rolled 
A chain and reliquaire of gold. 
Bertram beheld it with surprise, 
Gazed on its fashion and device. 
Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 
Somewhat he smoothed his rugged 

mood : 
For still the youth's half-lifted eye 
Quivered with terror's agony. 
And sidelong glanced as to explore. 
In meditated flight, the door. 
"Sit," Bertram said, "from danger 

free: 
Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 
Chance brings me hither ; hill and plain 
I 've sought for refuge-place in vain. 
And tell me now, thou aguish boy, 
What makest thou here ? what means 

this toy ? 
Denzil and thou, I marked, were ta'en ; 
What lucky chance unbound your chain? 
I deemed, long since on Baliol's tower, 
Your heads were warped with sun and 

shower. 
Tell me the whole — and, mark ! naught 

e'er 
Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." 
Gathering his courage to his aid. 
But trembling still, the youth obeyed. 



" Denzil and I two nights passed o'er 

In fetters on the dungeon floor. 

A guest the third sad morrow brought ; 

Our hold dark Oswald Wycliffe sought. 

And eyed my comrade long askance, 

With fixed and penetrating glance. 

♦ Guy Denzil art thou called ? ' — ' The 

same.' 
' At Court who served wild Bucking- 

hame ; 
Thence banished, won a keeper's place. 
So Villiers willed, in Marwood chase ; 
That lost — I need not tell thee why — ■ 
Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply. 
Then fought for Rokeby : — Have I 

guessed 
My prisoner right?' — 'At thy behest.'— 
He paused awhile, and then went on 
With low and confidential tone ; — 



236 



ROKEBY. 



Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 
Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
' List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the 

great 
Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
Hence, in their favor oft we see 
Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
Were I disposed to bid thee live. 
What pledge of faith hast thou to give ? ' 



" The ready Fiend, who never yet 
■Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit, 
Prompted his lie — ' His only child 
Should rest his pledge.' — The Baron 

smiled, 
And turned to me, — ' Thou art his 

son ? ' 
I bowed, — our fetters were undone, 
And we were led to hear apart 
A dreadful lesson of his art. 
Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son, 
Had fair Matilda's favor won ; 
And long since had their union been, 
But for her father's bigot spleen, 
Whose brute and blindfold party rage 
Would, force per force, her hand engage 
To a base kern of Irish earth, 
Unknown his lineage and his birth. 
Save that a dying ruffian bore 
The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
But fair occasion he must find 
For such restraint well-meant and kind, 
TheKnight beingrenderedto his charge 
But as a prisoner at large. 



" He schooled us in a well-forged tale. 
Of scheme the Castle walls to scale, 
To which was leagued each Cavalier 
That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear, 
That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
Such was the charge, which Denzil's 

zeal 
Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
Proffered, as witness, to make good. 
Even though the forfeit were their blood. 
I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ; 
And then — alas ! what needs there 

morp ? 



1 



I knew I should not live to say 
The proffer I refused that day ; 
Ashamed to live, yet loath to die, 
I soiled me with their infamy I "-. 
"Poor youth ! " said Bertram, "w 

ing still. 
Unfit alike for good or ill ! 
But what fell next?" — "Soon i& ut 

large 
Was scrolled and signed our fatal charge, 
There never yet, on tragic stage. 
Was seen so well a painted rage 
As Oswald's showed ! With loud alarm 
He called his garrison to arm ; 
From tower to tower, from post to post. 
He hurried as if all were lost ; 
Consigned to dungeon and to chain 
The good old Knight and all his train ; 
Warned each suspected Cavalier, 
Within his limits, to appear 
To-morrow, at the hour of noon. 
In the high church of Eglistone." — 



"Of Eglistone! — Even now I passed," 
Said Bertram, "as the night closed fast; 
Torches and cressets gleamed around ; 
I heard the saw and hammer sound. 
And I could mark they toiled to raise 
A scaffold hung with sable baize. 
Which the grim headsman's scene dis-- 

played. 
Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 
Some evil deed will there be done, 
Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
She loves him not, — 't is shrewdly 

guessed 
That Redmond rulesthedamsel'sbreast 
This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 
But I may meet, and foil him still ! — 
How camest thou to thy freedom ? " — « 

" There 
Lies mystery more dark and rare. 
In midst of Wycliffe's well-feigned rage, 
A scroll was offered by a page. 
Who told, a muffled horseman late 
Had left it at the Castle-gate. 
He broke the seal, — his cheek showed 

change. 
Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange; 
The mimic passion of his eye 
Was turned to actual agony ; 
His hand like summer sapling shook. 
Terror and guilt were in his look. 



ROKEBY. 



»37 



Denzil he judged, in time of need, 
Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 
And thus apart his counsel broke, 
While with a ghastly smile he spoke : — 



" 'As in the pageants of the stage, 
The dead awake in this wild age. 
Mortham, — whom all men deemed 

decreed 
In his own deadly snare to bleed, 
Slain by a bravo, whom, o'er sea, 
He trained to aid in murdering me, — 
Mortham has 'scaped 1 The coward 

shot 
The steed, but harmed the rider not.' " 
Here, with an execration fell, 
Bertram leaped up, and paced the cell : — 
"Thine own gray head, orbosom dark," 
He muttered, " may be surer mark ! " 
Then sat, and signed to Edmund, pale 
With terror, to resume his tale. 
" Wycliffe went on : — ' Mark with what 

flights 
Of wildered revery he writes : — 

THE LETTER. 

" ' Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 
Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 
Once had he all that binds to life, 
A lovely child, a lovelier wife ; 
Wealth, fame, and friendship were his 

own — 
Thougiv'st theword,andtheyare flown. 
Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 
He yields his honors and his land, 
One boon premised : Restore his child 1 
And, from his native land exiled, 
Mortham no more returns to claim 
His lands, his honors, or his name ; 
Refuse him this, and from the slain 
Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.' — 



" This billet while the Baron read, 
His faltering accents showed his dread ; 
He pressed his forehead with his palm, 
Then took a scornful tone and calm ; 
'Wild as the winds, as billows wild I 
What wot I of his spouse or child ? 
Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
Unknown her lineage or her name : 
Her, in some frantic fit, he slew ; 
The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 



Heaven be my witness ! wist I where 
To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, — 
Unguerdoned, I would give with joy 
The father's arms to fold his boy. 
And Mortham's lands and towers resign 
To the just heirs of Mortham's line.' — 
Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
He said, ' to ease his patron's heart ! 
In thine own jailer's watchful care 
Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir ; 
Thy generous wish is fully won, — 
Redmond O'Neale is Mortham'sson.' — 



" Up starting with a frenzied look. 
His clenched hand the Baron shook : 
' Is Hell at work ? or dost thou rave. 
Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 
Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's 

towers 
Have racks of strange and ghastly 

powers.' 
Denzil, who well his safety knew. 
Firmly rejoined, ' I tell thee true. 
Thy racks could give thee but to know 
The proofs, which I, untortured, show. 
It chanced upon a winter night. 
When early snow made Stanmore white. 
That very night, when first of all 
Redmond O'Xeale saw Rokeby-hall, 
It was my goodly lot to gain 
A reliquary and a chain. 
Twisted and chased of massive gold. 
— Demand not how the prize I hold ! 
It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — - 
Gilt tablets to the chain were hung, 
With letters in the Irish tongue. 
I hid my spoil, for there was need 
That I should leave the land with speed ; 
Nor then I deemed it safe to bear 
On mine own person gems so rare. 
Small heed I of the tablets took. 
But since have spelled them by the book. 
When some sojourn in Erin's land 
Of their wild speech had given com- 
mand. 
But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 
And language those of other days, 
Involved of purpose, as to foil 
An interloper's prying toil. 
The words, but not the sense, I knew, 
Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 



238 



RCKEBY. 



" ' Three days since, was that clew re- 
vealed, 
In Thorsgill as I lay concealed, 
And heard at full when Rokeby's Maid 
Her uncle's history displayed ; 
And now I can interpret well 
Each syllable the tablets tell. 
Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 
Of old O'Neale of Claiideboy ; 
But from her sire and country fled, 
In secret Mortham's lord to wed, 
O'Neale, his first resentment o'er. 
Despatched his son to Greta's shore. 
Enjoining he should make him known 
(Until his farther will were shown) 
To Edith, but to her alone. 
What of their ill-starred meeting fell. 
Lord Wycliffe knows, and none so well. 



" ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair. 
Robbed Mortham of his infant heir ; 
He bred him in their nurture wild, 
And called him murdered Connel's child. 
Soon died the nurse ; the Clan believed 
What from their Chieftain they received. 
His purpose was, that ne'er again 
The boy should cross the Irish main ; 
But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
Then on the land wild troubles came, 
And stronger Chieftains urged a claim, 
And wrested from the old man's hands 
His native towers, his father's lands. 
Unable then, amid the strife. 
To guard young Redmond's rights or 

life. 
Late and reluctant he restores 
The infant to his native shores, 
With goodly gifts and letters stored, 
With many a deep conjuring word. 
To Mortham and to Rokeby's lord. 
Naught knew the clod of Irish earth, 
Whowastheguide, of Redmond'sbirth ; 
But deemed his Chief's commands were 

laid 
On both, by both to be obeyed. 
How he was wounded by the way, 
I need not, and I list not say.' — 



" ' A wondrous tale ! and, grant it true. 
What,' Wycliffe answered, 'might I do? 



Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
I raise the bonnet from my brow. 
Would I my kinsman's manors fair 
Restore to Mortham, or his heir ; 
But Mortham is distraught, — O'Neale 
Has drawn for tyranny his steel, 
Malignant to our rightful cause, 
And trained in Rome's delusive laws. 
Hark thee apart ! ' — They whispered 

long. 
Till Denzil's voice grew bold and 

strong : — 
' My proofs ! I never will,' he said, 
' Show mortal man where they are 

laid. 
Nor hope discovery to foreclose, 
By giving me to feed the crows ; 
For I have mates at large, who know 
Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
Free me from peril and from band, 
These tablets are at thy command ; 
Nor were it hard to form some train, 
To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
Should wrest from thine the goodly 

land.' 
' I like thy wit,' said Wycliffe, ' well ; 
But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
Thy son, unless my purpose err, 
May prove the trustier messenger. 
A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
Gold shalt thou have, and that goov 

store, 
And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
But if his faith should chance to fail, 
The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' 



" Meshed in the net himself had twine<?, 
What subterfuge could Denzil find ? 
He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
That hidden here the tokens lie ; 
Conjured my swift return and aid, 
By all he scoffed and disobeyed. 
And looked as if the noose were tied, 
And I the priest who left his side. 
This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe gave. 
Whom I must seek by Greta's wave ; 
Or in the hut where chief he hides. 
Where Thorsgill's forester resides. 
(Thence chanced it, wandering in the 

glade. 
That he descried our ambuscade.) 



ROKEBY. 



a39 



I was dismissed as evening fell, 
And reached butnowthisrocky cell." — 
"Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read. 
And tore it fiercely shred by shred : — 
" All lies and villany ! to blind 
His noble kinsman's generous mind, 
And train him on from day to day. 
Till he can take his life away. — 
And now, declare thy purpose, youth. 
Nor dare to answer, save the truth ; 
If aught I mark of DenziPs art, 
I '11 tear the secret from thy heart ! " — 



*' It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
" My tutor and his deadly trade. 
Fixed was my purpose to declare _ 
To Mortham, Redmond is his heir ; 
To tell him in what risk he stands. 
And yield these tokens to his hands. 
Fixed was my purpose to atone, 
Far as I may, the evil done ; 
And fixed it rests, — if I survive 
Tliis night, and leave this cave alive " — 
*' And IDenzil?" — " Let them ply the 

rack, 
Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 
If Oswald tear him limb from limb, 
What ruth can Denzil claim from him, 
Whose thoughtless youth he led astray. 
And damned to this unhallowed way? 
He schooled me, faith and vows were 

vain ; 
Now let my master reap his gain." — 
" True," answered Bertram, " 't is his 

meed ; 
There 's retribution in the deed. 
Butthou — thou artnotforour course, — 
Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse: 
And he, with us the gale who braves. 
Must heave such cargo to the waves. 
Or lag with overloaded prore, 
While barks unburdened reach the 

shore." 



Hepaused, and,stretchinghim atlength. 
Seemed to repose his bulky strength. 
Communing with his secret mind. 
As half he sat, and half reclined. 
One ample hand his forehead pressed, 
And one was dropped across his breast. 
The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 



His lip of pride awhile forbore 
The haughty curve till then it wore ; 
The unaltered fierceness of his look 
A shade of darkened sadness took, — 
For dark and sad a presage pressed 
Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
And when he spoke, his wonted tone. 
So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
His voice was steady, low, and deep. 
Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
And sorrow mixed with Edmund's fear, 
Its low unbroken depth to hear. 



" Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
The woe that warped my patron's mind ; 
'T would wake the fountains of the eye 
In other men, but mine are dry. 
Mortham must never see the fool 
That sold himself base Wyclifte's tool ; 
Yet less from thirst of sordid gain. 
Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
Say, Bertram rues his fault ; — a word, 
Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
Say, too, that Mortham 's lord he prays 
To think but on their former days ; 
On Quarianna's beach and rock. 
On Caj'o's bursting battle-shock. 
On Darien's sands and deadly dew, 
And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 
Perchance my patron yet may hear 
More that may grace his comrade's bier. 
My soul hath felt a secret weight, 
A warning of approaching fate : 
A priest had said, ' Return, repent I ' 
As well to bid that rock be rent. 
Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 
My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 



" The dawning of my youth, with awe 
And prophecy, the Dalesman saw ; 
For over Redesdale it came, 
As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
Edmund, thy years were scarcely mine. 
When, challenging the Clans of Tjme 
To bring their best my brand to prove, 
O'er Hexam's altar hung my glove ; 
But Tynedale, nor in tower nor town, 
Held champion meet to take it down. 
My noontide, India may declare ; 
Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
Her uatives, from mine angry eye. 



24* 



ROKEBY. 



Patianta's maids shall long look pale 
When Risingham inspires the tale ; 
Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
The froward child with Bertram's name. 
And now, my race of terror run, 
Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
No pale gradations quench his ray, 
No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
With disk like battle-target red, 
He rushes to his burning bed, 
Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
Then sinks at once — and all is uight. — 



" Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
Seek Mortham out, and bid him hie 
To Richmond, where his troops are 

laid. 
And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
A friend will watch to guard his son. 
Now, fare thee well ; for night draws 

on, 
And I would rest me here alone." 
Despite his ill-dissembled fear. 
There svi'ani in Edmund's eye a tear ; 
A tribute to the courage high, 
Which stooped not in extremity, 
But strove, irregularly great. 
To triumph o'er approaching fate ! 
Bertram beheld the dewdrop start, 
It almost touched his iroti heart : 
" I did not think there lived," he said, 
" One who would tear for Bertram 

shed." 
He loosened then his baldric's hold, 
A buckle broad of massive gold ; — 
" Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
But this with Risingham remains ; 
And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt 

take. 
And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
Once more — to Mortham speed amain ; 
Farewell ! and turn thee not again." 

XXIII. 

The night has yielded to the mom. 
And far the hours of prime are worn. 
Oswald, who, since the dawn of daj% 
Had cursed his messenger's delay. 
Impatient questioned now his train, 
" Was Denzil's son returned again?" 
It chanced there answered of the crew 
A menial, who young Edmund knew : 



" No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 
" A peasant boy from Winston glade, 
For song and minstrelsy renowned, 
And knavish pranks, the hamlets 

round." 
"Not Denzil's son!— from Winston 

vale ! — 
Then it was false, that specious tale ; 
Or worse, — he hath despatched the 

youth 
To show to Mortham's lord its truth. 
Fool that I was ! — but 't is too late ; •— • 
This is the very turn of fate ! — 
The tale, or true or false, relies 
On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies \ — 
Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 
Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 
Allow him not a parting word ; 
Short be the shrift, and sure the cord ! 
Then let his gory head appall 
Marauders from the Castle-wall. 
Lead forth thy guard, that duty done, 
With best despatch to Eglistone. — 
— Basil, tell Wilfrid he rnust straight 
Attend me at the Castle-gate." — 



" Alas ! " the old domestic said, 
And shook his venerable head, 
"Alas, my lord ! full ill to day 
May my young master brook the way ! 
The leech has spoke with grave alarm, 
Of unseen hurt, of secret harm, 
Of sorrow lurking at the heart, 
That mars and lets his healing art." — 
" Tush ! tell not me ! — Romantic boys 
Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
Bid him for Eglistone be boune, 
And quick ! — I hear the dull death- 
drum 
Tell Denzil's hour of fate is come." 
He paused with scornful smile, and 

then 
Resumed his train of thought again. 
" Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
Entreaty boots not, — instant fear. 
Naught else, can bend Matilda's pride. 
Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
But when she sees the scafi'bld placed. 
With axe and block and headsman 

graced. 
And when she deems, that to deny 
Dooms Redmond and her sire to die, 



ROKEBY. 



241 



She must give way. — Then, were the 

line 
Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
If Mortham come, he comes too late. 
While I, allied thus and prepared. 
Bid him defiance to his beard. — 
— If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we 

there. 
Mortham still lives, — yon youth may 

tell 
His tale, — and Fairfax loves him 

well ; — 
Else, wherefore should I now delay 
Tosweepthis Redmond from my way ? — 
But she to piety perforce 
Must yield. — Without there ! Sound 

to horse 1 " 



'T was bustle in the court below, — 
" Mount, and march forward ! " — 

Forth they go ; 
Steeds neigh and trample all around. 
Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets 

sound. — 
Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 
And Denzil turned his eyeballs dim. 
And, scarcely conscious what he sees. 
Follows the horsemen down the Tees ; 
And scarcely conscious what he hears. 
The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
O'er the long bridge they 're sweeping 

now. 
The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 
But ere the rearward had passed o'er, 
Guy Denzil heard and saw no more ! 
One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 
To Oswald rung his dying knell. 



O for that pencil, erst profuse 
Of chivalry's emblazoned hues. 
That traced of old, in Woodstock bower 
The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
And bodied forth the tourney high. 
Held for the hand of Emily ! 
Then might I paint the tumult broad. 
That to the crowded abbey flowed, 
And poured, as witli an ocean's sound, 
Into the church's amjile bound ! 
Then might I show each varying mien, 
Exulting, woful, or serene ; 

16 



Indifference, with his idiot stare, 
And Sympathy, with anxious air. 
Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
Doubtful, disarmed, and sad of cheer; 
And his proud foe, whose tbrmal eye 
Claimed conquest now and mastery ; 
And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel. 
And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
Exalted worth and station high. 
Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
'T is mine to tell an onward tale. 
Hurrying, as best I can, along. 
The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
Like traveller when approaching home. 
Who sees the shades of evening come. 
And must not now his course delay, 
Or choose the fair but winding way ; 
Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 
Where o'er his head the wildings bend. 
To bless the breeze that cools his brow, 
Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 



The reverend pile lay wild and waste, 
Profaned, dishonored, and defaced. 
Through storied lattices no more 
In softened light the sunbeams pour. 
Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 
The Civil fury of the time 
Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 
For dark Fanaticism rent 
Altar, and screen, and ornament. 
And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 
Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 
And now was seen, unwonted sight. 
In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
Where once the priest, of grace divine, 
Dealt to his flock the mystic sign ; 
There stood the block displayed, and 

there 
The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
Resounded loud a doom of death. 
Thrice the fierce trumpet's breath was 

heard, 
And echoed <hrice the herald's word. 
Dooming, for breach of martial laws. 
And treason to the Commons' cause. 
The Knight of Rokeby, and O'Neale, 
To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
The trumpets flourished high and shrill 
Then was a silence dead and still ; 



242 



ROKEBY. 



And silent prayers to Heaven were cast, 
And stifled sobs were bursting fast, 
Till from the crowd begun to rise 
Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 
And from the distant aisles there came 
Deep-muttered threats, with Wycliffe's 
name. 

XXVIII. 

But Oswald, guarded by his band, 
Powerful in evil, waved his hand. 
And bade Sedition's voice be dead, 
On peril of the murmurer's head. 
Then first his glance sought Rokeby's 

Knight, 
Who gazed on the tremendous sight, 
As calm as if he came a guest 
To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 
As calm as if that trumpet-call 
Were summons to the bannered hall ; 
Firm in his loyalty he stood, 
And prompt to seal it with his blood. 
With downcast look drew Oswald 

nigh, — 
He durst not cope with Rokeby's eye ! — 
And said, with low and faltering breath, 
" Thou know'st the terms of life and 

death." 
The Knight then turned, and sternly 

smiled : 
" The maiden is mine only child. 
Yet shall my blessing leave her head. 
If with a traitor's son she wed " 
Then Redmond spoke : " The life of one 
Might thy malignity atone, 
On me be flung a double guilt ! 
Spare Rokeby's blood, let mine be 

spilt ! " 
Wycliffe had listened to his suit, 
But dread prevailed, and he was mute. 

XXIX. 

And now he pours his choice of fear 
In secret on Matilda's ear; 
" An union formed with me and mine, 
Insures the faith of Rokeby's line. 
Consent, and all this dread array, 
Like morning dream, shall pass away ; 
Refuse, and, by my duty pressed, 
I give the word, — thou know'st the 

rest." 
Matilda, still and motionless. 
With terror heard the dread address, 
Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 
To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 



Then wrung her hands in agony, 
And round her cast bewildered eye. 
Now on the scaffold glanced, and nott 
On Wycliffe's unrelenting brow. 
She veiled her face, and, with a voice 
Scarce audible, — "I make my choice 1 
Spare but their lives! — foraughtbeside, 
Let Wilfrid's doom my fate decide. 
He once was generous 1" — As she 

spoke. 
Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke ! — 
" Wilfrid, where loitered ye so late ? 
Why upon Basil rest thy weight ? — 
Art spellbound by enchanter's wand ? — 
Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded 

hand ; 
Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 
Should tears and trembling speak thy 

joy .> " 
" O hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
Of mine thou hast refused thine ear; 
But now the awful hour draws on, 
When truth must speak in loftier tone." 



He took Matilda's hand : — " Dear 

maid, 
Could'st thou so injure me," he said, 
" Of thy pcor friend so basely deem, 
As blend with him this barbarous 

scheme? 
Alas ! my efforts made in vain 
Might well have saved this added pain. 
But now, bear witness earth and heav- 
en. 
That ne'er was hope to mortal given. 
So twisted with the strings of life, 
As this, — to call Matilda wife ! 
I bid it now forever part, 
And with the effort bursts my heart." 
His feeble frame was worn so low. 
With wounds, with watching, and with 

woe. 
That nature could no more sustain 
The agony of mental pain. 
He kneeled, — his lip her hand had 

pressed. 
Just then he felt the stem arrest. 
Lower and lower sunk his head, — 
They raised him, — but the life was fled! 
Then, first alarmed, his sire and train 
Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
The soul, too soft its ills to bear. 
Had left our mortal hemisphere. 



ROKEBY. 



243 



And bought in better world the meed, 
To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 



The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 
With Wilfrid all his projects past, 
All turned and centred on his son. 
On Wilfrid all, — and he was gone. 
" And I am childless now," he said ; 
" Childless, through that relentless 

maid ! 
A lifetime's arts, in vain essayed. 
Are bursting on their artist's head ! 
Here lies my Wilfred dead, — and there 
Comes hated Mortham for his heir. 
Eager to knit in happy band 
With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's 

hand. 
And shall their triumph soar o'er all 
The schemes deep-laid to work their 

fall? 
No ! — deeds which prudence might not 

dare, 
Appall not vengeance and despair. 
The murd'ress weeps upon his bier, — 
I '11 change to real that feigned tear ! 
They all shall share destruction's shock ; 
— Ho ! lead the captives to the block ! " 
But ill his Provost could divine 
His feelings, and forbore the sign. 
" Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or they, 
Shall face the judgment-seat this day ! " 



The outmost crowd have heard a sound. 
Like horse's hoof on hardened ground ; 
Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
The very death's-men paused to hear. 
'T is in the churchyard now, — the tread 
Hath waked the dwelling of the dead ! 
Fresh sod and old sepulchral stone 
Return the tramp in varied tone. 
All eyes upon the gateway hung. 
When through the Gothic arch there 

sprung 
A horseman armed, at headlong speed, — 
Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
Fire from the flinty floor was spurned, 
The vaults unwonted clang returned ! — 
One instant's glance around he threw, 
From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
Grimly determined was his look ! 
His charger with ihe spurs he strook, — 



All scattered backward as he came. 
For all knew Bertram Risingham ! 
Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
The first has reached the central nave, 
The second cleared the chancel wide. 
The third — he was at Wycliffe's side. 
Full levelled at the Baron's head, 
Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
And to his long account, and last. 
Without a groan dark Oswald past I 
All was so quick, that it might seem 
A flash of lightning, or a dream. 



While yet the smoke the deed con- 
ceals, 
Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
But floundered on the pavement floor 
The steed, and down the rider bore. 
And, bursting in the headlong sway. 
The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
'Twas while he toiled him to be freed, 
And with the rein to raise the steed, 
That from amazement's iron trance 
All Wycliffe's soldiers waked at once 
Sword, halberd, musket-but, their blows 
Hailed upon Bertram as he rose : 
A score of pikes, with each a wound. 
Bore down and pinned him to the 

ground ; 
But still his struggling force he rears, 
'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing 

spears ; 
Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
Once gained his feet, and twice his 

knee. 
By tenfold odds oppressed at length. 
Despite his struggles and his strength, 
He took a hundred mortal wounds, 
As mute as fox 'mongst mangling 

hounds : 
And when he died, his parting groan 
Had more of laughter than of moan ! 
— They gazed, as when a lion dies, 
And huTiters scarcely trust their eyes, 
]jut bend their weapons on the slain. 
Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
Then blow and insult some renewed. 
And from the trunk the head had 

hewed. 
But Basil's voice the deed forbade : 
A mantle o'er the corse he laid ; " 
" Fell as he was in act and mind. 
He left no bolder heart behind : 



244 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Then give him, for a soldier meet, 
A soldier's cloak for winding-sheet." 



No more of death and dying pang, 
No more of trump and bugle clang. 
Though through the sounding woods 

there come 
Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 
Armed with such powers as well had 

freed 
Young Redmond at his utmost need. 
And backed with such a band of horse, 
As might less ample powers enforce ; 
Possessed of every proof and sign 
That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 
And yielded to a father's arms 
An image of his Edith's charms, — 
Mortham is come, to hear and see 
Of this strange mom the history. 
What saw he ? — not the church's floor. 
Cumbered with dead and stained with 

gore ; 
What heard he? — not the clamorous 

crowd. 
That shout their gratulations loud : 
Redmond he saw and heard alone. 
Clasped him, and sobbed, " My son ! 

my son 1 " — 



This chanced upon a summer morn. 
When yellow waved the heavy corn : 
But when brown August o'er the land 
Called forth the reaper's busy band, 
A gladsome sight the sylvan road 
From Eglistone to Mortham showed. 
Awhile the hardy rustic leaves 
The task to bind and pile the sheaves, 
And maids their sickles fling aside, 
To gaze on bridegroom and on bride, 
Andchildhood's wonderinggroup draws 

near. 
And from the gleaner's hand the ear 
Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 
And blessing on the lovely pair. 
'T was then the Maid of Rokeby gave 
Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 
And Teesdale can remember yet 
How Fate to Virtue paid her debt. 
And, for their troubles, bade them 

prove 
A lengthened life of peace and love. 

Time and Tide had thus their sway. 
Yielding, like an April day. 
Smiling noon for sullen morrow. 
Years of joy for hours of sorrow ! 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 

The scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artomish, on the coast of 
Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye and Arran, and upon the 
coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the spring 
of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the English 
and the Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from the Island of 
Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. 
Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The 
authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to 
be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish monar- 
chy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History 
of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, the 
Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 

Abbotsford, \oth December, 1814. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



245 



CANTO FIRST. 

Autumn departs, — but still his mantle's fold 
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, 
Beneath a shroud of russet drooped with gold, 
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; 
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill, 
Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell, 
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill : 
And yet some tints of summer splendor tell 
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell. 

Autumn departs, — from Gala's fields no more 
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; 
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, 
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, 
And harvest home hath hushed the clanging wain, 
On the waste hill no forms of life appear, 
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, 
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain. 

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still, 
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray, 
To see the heath-flower withered on the hill, 
To listen to the wood's expiring lay. 
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray. 
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain. 
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, 
And moralize on mortal joy and pain? — 
O, if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain I 

No ! do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie. 
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky, 
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry. 
When wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
Nor mock my toil, — a lonely gleaner I, 
Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound, 
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found. 

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved. 
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved. 
Still live some relics of the ancient lay. 
For when on Coolin's hills the lights decay. 
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles ; 
'T is known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, 
In Harries known, and in lona's piles. 
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. 



Wake, Maid of Lorn ! " the Minstrels 

sung. 
Thy fugged halls, Artornish ! rung, 



And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, 
Heaved on the beach a softer wave. 
As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep 
The diapason of the Deep. 



^Afit 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Lulled were the winds on Inninmore, 
And green Loch-Alline's woodland 

shore, 
Asif wild woods and waves had pleasure 
In listing to the lovely measure. 
And ne'er to symphony more sweet 
Gave mountain echoes answer meet, 
Since, met from main-land and from isle, 
Ross, Arran, Hay, and Argyle, 
Eacli minstrel's tributary lay 
Paid homage to the festal day. 
Dull and dishonored were the bard, 
Worthless of guerdon and regard. 
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, 
Who on that morn's resistless call 
Were silent in Artornish hall. 



" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! " — 't was thus 

they sung, 
And yet more proud the descant rung, 
" Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is 

ours, 
To charm dull sleep from Beauty's 

bowers ; 
Earth, Ocean, Air, have naught so shy 
But owns the power of minstrelsy. 
In Lettermore the timid deer 
Will pause, the harp's wild chime to 

hear; 
Rude Heiskar's seal through surges 

dark 
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark : 
To list his notes, the eagle proud 
Will poise him on Ben Cailliach's cloud; 
Then let not Maiden's ear disdain 
The summons of the minstrel train, 
Bi't, while our harps wild music make, 
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! 



*' O wake, while Dawn, with dewyshine. 
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with 

thine ! 
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 
To mate thy melody of voice ; 
The dew that on the violet lies 
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; 
But, Edith, wake, and all we see 
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee ! " 
" She comes not yet," gray Ferrand 

cried ; 
" Brethren, let softer spell be tried, 



Those notes prolonged, that soothing 

theme. 
Which best may mix with Beauty's 

dream. 
And whisper with their silvery tone. 
The hope she loves, yet fears to own." 
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died 
The strains of flattery and of pride : 
More soft more low, more tender fell 
The lay of love he bade them tell. 



"Wake, MaidofLorn ! themomentsfly, 

Which yet that maiden name allow ; 
Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, 

When love shall claim a plighted vow. 
By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest. 

By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, 
We bid thee break the bonds of rest, 

And wake thee at the call of Love ! 

" Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay 

Lies many a galley gayly manned, 
We hear the merry pibroch's play. 

We see the streamer's silken band. 
What chieftain's praise these pibrochs 
swell, 

What crest is on these banners wove, 
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell — 

The riddle must be read by Love." 



Retired her maiden train among, 
Edith of Lorn received the song, 
But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 
That had her cold demeanor seen ; 
For not upon her cheek awoke 
The glow of pride when Flattery spoke, 
Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 
One sigh responsive to the string. 
As vainly had her maidens vied 
In skill to deck the princely bride. 
Her locks, in dark-brown length ar- 
rayed, 
Cathleen of Ulne, 't was thine to braid ; 
Young Eva with meet reverence drew 
On the light foot the silken shoe, 
While on the ankle's slender round 
Those strings ofpearl fair Bertha wound, 
That, bleached Lochryan's depths with- 
in. 
Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin. 
But Einion, of experience old. 
Had weightiest task, — the mantle's fold 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



247 



In many an artful plait she tied. 
To show the form it seemed to hide, 
Till on the floor descending rolled 
Its waves of crimson blent with gold. 



O, lives there now so cold a maid, 
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed, 
In beauty's proudest pitch of power, 
And conquest won, — the bridal hour, — 
With every charm that wins the heart. 
By Nature given, enhanced by Art, 
Could yet the fair reflection view. 
In the bright mirror pictured true, 
And not one dimple on her cheek 
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak? — 
Lives still such maid ? — Fair damsels, 

say. 
For further vouches not my lay, 
Save that such lived in Britain's isle, 
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to 

smile. 



But Morag, to whose fostering care 
Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, 
Morag, who saw a mother's aid 
By all a daughter's love repaid, 
(Strict was that bond — most kind of 

all — 
Inviolate in Highland hall) — 
Gray Morag sat a space apart, 
In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 
In vain the attendants' fond appeal 
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal ; 
"^e marked her child receive their care, 
cold as the image sculptured fair, 
/Form of some sainted patroness,) 
Which cloistered maids combine to 

dress ; 
She marked, — and knew her nursling's 

heart 
In the vain pomp took little part. 
Wistful awhile she gazed — then pressed 
The maiden to her anxious breast 
In finished loveliness — and led 
To where a turret's airy head. 
Slender and steep, and battled round, 
O'erlooked, dark Mull ! thy mighty 

Sound, 
Where thwarting tides, with mingled 

roar, 
Part thy swarth hills from Morven's 

shore. 



" Daughter," she said, "these seas be- 
hold, 
Roimd twice a hundred islands rolled, 
From Hirt, that hears their northern 

roar. 
To the green Hay's fertile shore : 
Or main-land turn, where many a tower 
Owns thy bold brother's feudal power, 
Each on its own dark cape reclined. 
And listening to its own wild wind, 
From where Mingarry, sternly pi. iced, 
O'erawes the woodland and the waste, 
To where Dunstaffnage hears the rag- 

Of Connal with its rocks engaging. 
Think'st thou, amid this ample round, 
A single brow but thine has.frowned, 
To sadden this auspicious morn, 
That bids the daughter of high Lorn 
Impledge her spousal faith to wed 
The heir of mighty Sonierled? 
Ronald, from many a hero sprung, 
The fair, the valiant, and the young. 
Lord of the Isles, whose lofty name 
A thousand bards have given to fame, 
The mate of monarchs, and allied 
On equal terms with England's pride.' — 
From Chieftain's tower to bondsman's 

cot. 
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not? 
The damsel dons her best attire, 
The shepherd lights his beltane fire, 
Joy ! joy ! each warder's horn hath sung, 
Joy ! joy ! each matin bell hath rung ; 
The holy priest says grateful mass. 
Loud shouts each hardy gall a-gl ass. 
No mountain den holds outcast boor, 
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 
But he hath flung his task aside. 
And claimed this morn for holy-tide ; 
Yet, empress of this joyful day, 
Edith is sad while all are gay." — 



Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, 
Resentment checked the struggling 

sigh, 
Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
The burning tears of injured pride : — 
" Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ; 
Make to yon maids thy boast of power, 
That they may waste a wondering hour. 



248 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Telling of banners proudly borne, 
Of pealing bell and bugle horn, 
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, 
Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 
But thou, experienced as thou art, 
Think'st thou with these to cheat the 

heart. 
That, bound in strong affection's chain. 
Looks for return and looks in vain ? 
No ! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 
In these brief words — He loves hernot! 



" Debate it not, — too long I strove 
To call his cold observance love, 
All bhnded by the league that styled 
Edith of Lorn, — while yet a child. 
She tripped the heath by Alorag's 

side, — 
Thebrave Lord Ronald's destinedbride. 
Ere yet I saw him, while afar 
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's 

war, 
Trained to believe our fates the same, 
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's 

name 
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale, 
Like perfume on the summer gale. 
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told 
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold ; 
Who touched the harp to heroes' praise. 
But his achievements swelled the lays? 
Even Morag — not a tale of fame 
Was hers but closed with Ronald's 

name. 
He came ! and all that had been told 
Of his high worth seemed poor and cold, 
Tame, lifeless, void of energy. 
Unjust to Ronald and to me ! 



" Since then, what thought had Edith's 

heart 
And gave not plighted love its part ! — 
And what requital ? cold delay — 
Excuse that shunned the spousal day. — 
It dawns, and Ronald is not here ! — 
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, 
Or loiters he in secret dell 
To bid some lighter love farewell, 
Andswear, that though hemay notscorn 
A daughter of the House of Lorn, 
Yet, when these formal rites are o'er, 
A^ain they meet, to part no more? " 



— " Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts 

remove, 
More nobly think of Ronald's love. 
Look, where beneath the castle gray 
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
See'st not each galley's topmast bend, 
As on the yards the sails ascend ? 
Hiding the dark blue land they rise. 
Like the white clouds on April skies : 
The shouting vassals man the oars. 
Behind them sink Mull's mountain 

shores. 
Onward their merry course they keep, 
Through whistling breeze and foaming 

deep. 
And mark the headmost, seaward cast, 
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast, 
As if she veiled its bannered pride. 
To greet afar her Prince's bride ! 
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed 
His galley mates the flying steed. 
He chides her sloth ! " — Fair Edith 

sighed. 
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus re- 
plied : — 



"Sweet thought, but vain! — No, Mor- 
ag ! mark, 
Type of his course, yon lonely bark, \ 
That oft hath shifted helm and sail, 
To win its way against the gale. 
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 
Have viewed by fits the course she tries; 
Now, though the darkening scud comes 

on, 
And dawn's fair promises be gone. 
And though the weary crew may see 
Our sheltering haven on their lee, 
Still closer to the rising wind 
They strive her shivering sail to bind. 
Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge 
At every tack her course they urge. 
As if they feared Artornish more 
Than adverse windsandbreakers' roar.' 



Sooth spoke the Maid, — Amid the tide 
The skiff she marked lay tossing sore, 

And shifted oft her stooping side, 
In weary tack from shore to shore. 
Yet on her destined course no more 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



249 



She gained, of forward way, 
Than what a minstrel may compare 
To the poor meed which peasants 
share, 

Who toil the livelong day ; 
And such the risk her pilot braves, 

That oft, before she wore, 
Herboltsprit kissed the broken waves, 
Where in white foam the ocean raves 

Upon the shelving shore. 
Yet, to their destined purpose true, 
Undaunted toiled her hardy crew, 

Nor looked where shelter lay, 
Nor for Artornish Castle drew, 

Nor steered for Aros bay. 



Thus while they strove with wind and 

seas. 
Borne onward by the willing breeze, 

Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, 
Streamered with silk, and tricked with 

gold, 
Manned with the noble and the bold 

Of island chivalry. 
Around their prows the ocean roars. 
And chafes beneath their thousand oars. 

Yet bears them on their way ; 
So chafes the war-horse in his might. 
That fieldward bears some valiant 

knight. 
Champs, till both bit and boss are white, 

But, foaming, must obey. 
On each gay deck they might behold 
Lances of steel and crests of gold, 
And hauberks with their burnished fold, 

That shimmered fair and free ; 
And each proud galley, as she passed, 
To the wild cadence of the blast 

Gave wilder minstrelsy. 
Full many a shrill triumphant note 
Saline and Scallastle bade float 

Their.misty shores around ; 
And Morven's echoes answered well, 
And Duart heard the distant swell 

Come down the darksome Sound. 



So bore they on with mirth and pride. 
And if that laboring bark they spied, 

'T was with such idle eye 
As nobles cast on lowly boor. 
When, toiling in his task obscure, 

They pass him careless by. 



Let them sweep on with heedless eyes ! 
But, had they known what mighty prize 

In that frail vessel lay, 
The famished wolf, that prowls the wold, 
Had scathless passed the unguarded 

fold, 
Ere, drifting by these galleys bold, 

Unchallenged were her way ! 
And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, 
With mirth, and pride, and minstrel 

tone ! 
But hadst thou known who sailed sonigh, 
Far other glance were in thine eye ! 
Far other flush were on thy brow. 
That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer 
Of bridegroom when the bride is near 1 



Yes, sweep they on ! — We will not 

leave, 
For them that triumph, those whogrieve. 

With that armada gay 
Be laughter loud and jocund shout. 
And bards to cheer the wassail rout. 

With tale, romance, and lay ; 
And of wild mirth each clamorous art, 
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 
May stupefy and stun its smart. 

For one loud, busy day. 
Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that 
skiff 

Abides the minstrel tale. 
Where there was dread of surge and 

cliff, 
Labor that strained each sinew stiff. 

And one sad Maiden's wail. 



All day with fruitless strife they toiled, 
With eve the ebbing currents boiled 

More fierce from strait and lake ; 
And midway through the channel met 
Conflicting tides that foam and fret, 
And high their mingled billows jet. 
As spears, that, in the battle set, 

Spring upward as they break. 
Then, too, the lights of eve were past, 
And louder sung the western blast 

On rocks of Inninmore ; 
Rent was the sail, and strained the mast^ 
And many a leak was gaping fast. 
And the pale steersman stood aghast- 

And gave the conflict o'er. 



^o 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



'T was then that One, whose lofty look 
Nor labor dulled nor terror shook, 

Thus to the Leader spoke : — 
" Brother, how hopest thou to abide 
The fury of this wildered tide, 
Or how avoid the rock's rude side, 

Until the day has broke ? 
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel. 
With quivering planks, and groaning 
keel. 

At the last billow's shock ? 
Yet how of better counsel tell. 
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 

Half dead with want and fear ; 
For look on sea, or look on land, 
Or yon dark sky, on every hand 

Despair and death are near. 
For her alone I grieve, — on me 
Danger sits light, by land and sea, 

I follow where thou wilt ; 
Either to bide the tempest's lower, 
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower. 
Or rush amid their naval power. 
With war-cry wake their wassail hour, 

And die with hand on hilt." 



That elder Leader's calm reply 

In steady voice was given, 
" In man's most dark extremity 

Oft succor dawns from Heaven. 
Edward, trim thou the shattered sail, 
The helm be mine, and down the gale 

Let our free course be driven : 
So shall we 'scape the western bay, 
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
So safely hold our vessel's way 

Beneath the Castle wall ; 
For if a hope of safety rest, 
'T is on the sacred name of guest. 
Who seeks for shelter, storm-distressed, 

Within a chieftain's hall. 
If not, — it best beseems our worth. 
Our name, our right, our lofty birth. 

By noble hands to fall." 

XXI. 

The helm, to his strong arm consigned. 
Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind, 

And on her altered way. 
Fierce bounding, forward sprung the 

ship. 
Like greyhound starting from the slip 



To seize his flying prey. 
Awaked before the rushing prow, 
The mimic fires of ocean glow. 

Those lightnings of the wave ; 
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides. 
And, flashing round, the vessel's sides 

With elvish lustre lave. 
While, far behind, their livid light 
To the dark billows of the night 

A gloomy splendor gave. 
It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
From his dark brow the lucid flakes 

In envious pageantry, 
To match the meteor-light that streaka 

Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 

XXII. 

Nor lacked they steadier light to keep 
Theircourse upon the darkened deep; — 
Artornish, on her frowning steep 

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung. 
Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 
And landward far, and far to sea, 

Her festal radiance flung. 
By that blithe beacon-light they steered, 

Whose lustre mingled well 
With the pale beam that now appeared, 
As the cold moon her head upreared 

Above the eastern fell. 



Thus guided, on their course they bore. 
Until they neared the main-land shore, 
When frequent on the hollow blast 
Wild shouts of merriment were cast. 
And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry 
With wassail sounds in concert vie. 
Like funeral shrieks with revelry. 

Or like the battle-shout 
By peasants heard from cliffs on high, 
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony, 

Madden the fight and rout. 
Now nearer yet, through mist and storm 
Dimly arose the Castle's forfc. 

And deepened shadow made. 
Far lengthened on the main below, 
Where, dancing in reflected glow, 

A hundred torches played, 
Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
As pleasures in this vale of pain. 

That dazzle as they fade. 

XXIV. 

Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee. 
They stayed their course in quiet sea. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



»Si 



Hewn in the rock, a passage there 
Sought the dark fortress by a stair, 

So strait, so high, so steep, 
With peasant's staff one vaHant hand 
Might well the dizzy pass have manned, 
'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and 
brand. 

And plunged them in the deep. 
His bugle then the helmsman wound ; 
Loud answered every echo round, 

From turret, rock, and bay ; 
The postern's hinges crash and groan, 
And soon the Warder's cresset shone 
On those rude steps of slippery stone, 

To light the upward way. 
" Thrice welcome, holy Sire ! " he said ; 
" Full long the spousal train have stayed 

And, vexed at thy delay, 
Feared lest, amidst these wildering seas, 
The darksome night and fresiiening 
breeze 

Had driven thy bark astray." — 



" Warder," the younger stranger said, 
" Thine erring guess some mirth had 

made 
In mirthful hour ; but nights like these. 
When the rough winds wake western 

seas, 
Brook not of glee. We crave some aid 
And needful shelter for this maid 

Until the break of day ; 
For to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 
Is easy as the mossy bank 

Tiiat 's breathed upon by May. 
And for our storm-tossed skiff we seek 
Short shelter in this leeward creek. 
Prompt, when the dawn the east shall 
streak. 

Again to bear away." — 
Answered the Warder, " In what name 
Assert ye hospitable claim ? 

Whence come, or whither bound ? 
Hath Erin seen your parting sails. 
Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
And seek ye England's fertile vales. 

Or Scotland'smomitain ground?" — 

XXVI. 

" Warriors — for other title none 
For some brief space we list to own. 
Bound by a vow — warriors are we ; 
In strife by land and storm by sea, 



We have been known to fame ; 
And these brief words have import dear. 
When sounded in a noble ear, 
To harbor sale, and friendly cheer, 

That gives us rightful claim. 
Grant us the trivial boon we seek, 
And we in other realms will speak 

Fair of your courtesy ; 
Deny — and be your niggard Hold 
Scorned by the noble and the bold, 
Shunned by the pilgrim on the wold, 

And wanderer on the lea ! " — 



" Bold stranger, no, — 'gainst claim like 

thine. 
No bolt revolves by hand of mine, 
Though urged in tone that more ex- 
pressed 
A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
Be what ye will, Artornish Hall 
On this glad eve is free to all. 
Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 
'Gainst our ally, great England's Lord, 
Or mail upon your shoulders borne, 
To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 
Or, outlawed, dwelt by greenwood tree 
With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie, 
Or aided even the murderous strife, 
When Comyn fell beneath the knife 
Of that fell homicide The Bruce, 
This night had been a term of truce. — 
Ho, vassals ! give these guests your care, 
And show the narrow postern stair." 



To land these two bold brethren leapt, 
(The weary crew their vessel kept,) 
And, lighted by the torches' flare. 
That seaward flung their smoky glare. 
The younger knight that maiden bare 

Half lifeless up the rock ; 
On his strong shoulder leaned her head. 
And down her long dark tresses shed, 
As the wild vine in tendrils spread, 

Droops from the mountain oak. 
Him followed close that elder Lord, 
And in his hand a sheathed sword. 

Such as few arms could wield ; 
But when he bouned him to such task. 
Well could it cleave the strongest 
casque, 

And rend the surest shield. 



252 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



The raised portcullis' arch they pass, 
The wicket with its bars of brass, 

The entrance long and low, 
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes 

strait. 
Where bowmen might in ambush wait, 
(If force or fraud should burst the gate,) 

To gall an entering foe. 
But every jealous post of ward 
Was now defenceless and unbarred, 

And all the passage free 
To one low-browed and vaulted room. 
Where squire and yeoman, page and 
groom, 

Plied their loud revelry. 



And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade, 
" Till to our Lord your suit is said. — 
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, 
And on these men who ask our aid, 

As if ye ne'er had seen 
A damsel tired of midnight bark, 
Or wanderers of a moulding stark. 

And bearing martial mien." 
But not for Eachin's reproof 
Would page or vassal stand aloof, 

But crowded on to stare. 
As men of courtesy untaught, 
Till fiery Edward roughly caught. 

From one, the foremost there, 



His checkered plaid, and in its shroud, 
To hide her from the vulgar crowd. 

Involved his sister fair. 
His brother, as the clansman bent 
His sullen brow in discontent, 

Made brief and stern excuse ; — 
" Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall 
That decks thy lord in bridal hall, 

'T were honored by her use." 



Proud was his tone, but calm ; his ej'e 

Had that compelling dignity. 

His mien that bearing haught and high, 

Which common spirits fear ; 
Needed nor word nor signal more. 
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er ; 
Upon each other back they bore. 

And gazed like startled deer. 
But now appeared the Seneschal, 
Commissioned by his lord to call 
The strangers to the Baron's hall, 

Where feasted fair and free 
That Island Prince in nuptial tide, 
With Edith there his lovely bride. 
And her bold brother by her side. 
And many a chief, the flower and prida 

Of Western land and sea. 

Here pause we, gentles, for a space ; 
And, if our tale hath won your grace. 
Grant us brief patience, and again 
We will renew the minstrel strain. 



CANTO SECOND. 



Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board 1 
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair ! 
Through the loud hall, in joyous concert poured. 
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care 1 
But ask thou not if Happiness be there. 
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, 
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear : 
Lift not the festal mask ! — enough to know. 
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe. 



With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay. 
With all that olden time deemed gay. 
The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
But there was in his troubled eye 
A gloomy fire, and on his brow 
Now sudden flushed, and faded now, 



Emotions such as draw their birth 
From deeper source than festal mirth. 
By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
And jester's tale went round in vain. 
Or fell but on his idle ear 
Like distant sounds which dveamers 
hear. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



2S3 



Then would he rouse him, and employ 
Each art to aid the clamorous joy, 

And call for pledge and lay. 
And, for brief space, of all the crowd, 
As he was loudest of the loud, 

Seem gayest of the gay. 



Yet naught amiss the bridal throng 
Marked in brief mirth, or musing long; 
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear, 
They gave to thoughts of raptures near, 
And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, 
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud. 
And jealous of his honored line. 
And that keen knight, De Argentine, 
(From England sent on errand high, 
The western league more firm to tie,) 
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to find 
A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
But one sad heart, one tearful eye, 
Pierced deeper through the mystery, 
And watched with agony and fear 
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. 



She watched, — yet feared to meet his 

glance. 
And he shunned hers ; — till when by 

chance 
They met, the point of foeman's lance 

Had given a milder pang ! 
Beneath the intolerable smart 
He writhed ; — then sternly manned his 

heart 
To play his hard but destined part, 

And from the table sprang. 
" Fill me the mighty cup ! " he said, 
" Erst owned by royal Somerled : 
Fill it, till on the studded brim 
In burning gold the bubbles swim, 
And every gem of varied shine 
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 
Toyou, brave Lord, and brothermine, 

Of Lorn, this pledge I drink, — 
The Union of Our House with thine, 
By this fair bridal-link ! " — 



" Let it pass round ! " quoth he of Lorn, 
" And 'u good time — that winded horn 



Must of the Abbot tell ; 
The laggard monk is come at last." 
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast, 
And on the floor, at random cast, 

The untasted goblet fell. 
But when the Warder in his ear 
Tells other news, his blither cheer 

Returns like sun of May, 
When through a thunder-cloud it 

beams ! — 
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems 

As glad of brief delay 
As some poor criminal might feel 
When from the gibbet or the wheel 

Respited for a day. 



" Brother of Lorn," with hurried voice 
He said, " and you, fair lords, rejoice ! 

Here, to augment our glee, 
Come wandering knights from travel far 
Well proved, they say, in strife of war, 

And tempest on the sea. — 
Ho ! give them at your board such place 
As best their presences may grace. 

And bid them welcome free ! " 
With solemn step and silver wand, 
The Seneschal the presence scanned 
Of these strange guests ; and well he 

knew 
How to assign their rank its due ; 

For though the costly furs 
That erst had decked their caps were 

torn, 
And their gay robes were overworn, 

And soiled their gilded spurs. 
Yet such a high commanding grace 
Was in their mien and in their face. 
As suited best the princely dais. 

And royal canopy ; 
And there he marshalled them their 
place 

First of that company. 



Then lords and ladies spake aside, 
And angry looks the error chide, 
That gave toguests unnamed, unknown, 
A place so near their prince's throne ; 

But Owen Erraught said, — 
" For forty years a seneschal. 
To marshal guests in bower and hall 

Has been my honored trade. 



254 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Worship and birth to me are kno%vn, 
By look, by bearing, and by tone, 
Not by furred robe or broidered zone ; 

And 'gainst an oaken bough 
I '11 gage my silver wand of state. 
That these three strangers oft have sate 

In higher place than now." — 



" I, too," the aged Ferrand said, 
" Am qualified by minstrel trade 

Of rank and place to tell ; — 
Marked ye the younger stranger's eye, 
My mates, how quick, how keen, how 
high. 

How fierce its flashes fell. 
Glancing among the noble rout 
As if to seek the noblest out, 
Because the owner might not brook 
On any save his peers to look ? 

And yet it moves me more. 
That steady, calm, majestic brow, 
With which the elder chief even now 

Scanned the gay presence o'er, 
Like being of superior kind. 
In whose high-toned impartial mind 
Degrees of mortal rank and state 
Seem objects of indifferent weight. 
The lady too, — though closely tied 

The mantle veil both face and eye. 
Her motions' grace it could not hide. 

Nor could her form's fair symme- 
try." 

IX. 

Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
Lov.'ered on the haughty front of Lorn. 
From underneath his brows of pride 
The stranger guests he sternly eyed. 
And whispered closely what the ear 
Of Argentine alone might hear : 

Then questioned, high and brief. 
If, in their voyage, aught they knew 
Of the rebellious Scottish crew, 
Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew, 

With Carrick's outlawed Chief? 
And if, their winter's exile o'er, 
They harbored still by Ulster's shore. 
Or launched their galleys on the main, 
To vex their native land again ? 



That younger stranger, fierce and high. 
At once confronts the Chieftain's eye 



With look of equal scorn : — 
" Of rebels have we naught to shov ; 
But if of royal Bruce thou 'dst know, 

I warn thee he has sworn, 
Ere thrice three days shall come and go, 
His banner Scottish wind shall blow, 
Despite each mean or mighty foe, 
From England's every bill and bow, 

To Allaster of Lorn." 
Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire. 
But Ronald quenched the rising fire : — 
" Brother, it better suits the time 
TochasethenightwithFerrand'sihyme, 
Than wake, midst mirth and wine, the 

jars 
That flow from these unhappy wars." — 
" Content," said Lorn ; and spoke apart 
With Ferrand, master of his art. 

Then whispered Argentine, — 
" The lay I named will carry smart 
To these bold strangers' haughty heart. 

If right this guess of mine." 
He ceased, and it was silence all. 
Until the minstrel waked the hall. 



THE BROACH OF LORN. 

" Whence the broach of burning gold, 
That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold, 
Wrought and chased with rare device, 
Studded fair with gems of price. 
On the varied tartans beaming. 
As, through night's pale rainbow gleam- 
ing. 
Fainter now, now seen afar. 
Fitful shines the northern star? 

"Gem! ne'er wrought on Highland 

mountain. 
Did the fairy of the fountain, 
Or the mermaid of the wave. 
Frame thee in some coral cave? 
Did, in Iceland's darksome mine. 
Dwarf swart hands thy metal twine ? 
Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here 
From England's love or France's fear? 

XII. 

SONG CONTINUED. 

" No ! — thy splendors nothing tell 
Foreign art or faery spell. 
Moulded thou for monarch's use 
By the overweening Bruce, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



255 



When the royal robe he tied 
O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 
Thence in triumph wen thou torn, 
By the victor hand of Lorn ! 

"When the gem was won and lost, 

Widely was tlie war-cry tossed ! 
Rung aloud Bendourish fell, 
Answered Douchart's sounding dell, 
Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
When the homicide, o'ercome, 
Hardly 'scaped with scath and scorn, 
Left the pledge with conquering Lorn I 



SONG CONCLUDED. 

" Vain was then the Douglas brand, 
Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand, 
Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk. 
Making sure of murder's work ; 
Barendown fled fast away, 
Fled the fiery De la Haye, 
When this broach, triumphant borne, 
Beamed upon the breast of Lorn. 

" Farthest fled its former Lord, 
Left his men to brand and cord, 
Bloody brand of Highland steel, 
English gibbet, axe, and wheel. 
Let him fly from coast to coast. 
Dogged by Comyn's vengeful ghost. 
While his spoils, in triiunph worn. 
Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! " 



As glares the tiger on his foes, 
Hemmed in by hunters, spears, and 

bows, 
And, ere he bounds upon the ring. 
Selects the object of his spring, — 
Now on the Bard, now on his Lord, 
So Edward glared and grasped his 

sword, — ■ 
But stern his brother spoke, — " Be still. 
What ! art thou yet so wild of will. 
After high deeds and sufferings long, 
To chafe thee for a menial's song ? — 
Well hast thou framed, Old Man, thy 

strains, 
To praise the hand that pays thy pains ! 
Yet something might thy song have 

told 
Of Lorn's three vassals, true and bold. 
Who rent their Lord from Bruce's hold, 



As underneath his knec he lay, 
And died to save him in the fray. 
I 've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 
Was clenched within their dying grasp, 
What time a hundred foemen more 
Rushed in, and back the victor bore. 
Long after Lorn had left the strife. 
Full glad to 'scape with limb and life.—- 
Enough of this. — And, Minstrel, hold, 
As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold, 
For future lays a fair excuse 
To speak more nobly of the Bruce."—' 



" Now, by Columba's shrine, I swear, 
Aiid every saint that 's buried there, 
'1' is he himself! " Lorn sternly cries, 
" And for my kinsman's death he dies." 
As loudly Ronald calls, — " Forbear ! 
Not in my sight while brand I wear, 
O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall. 
Or blood of stranger stain my hall ! 
This ancient fortress of my race 
Shall be misfortune's resting-place. 
Shelter and shield of the distressed. 
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked 

guest." — 
"Talk not tome," fierce Lorn replied, 
"Of odds or match I — when Comyn 

died. 
Three daggers clashed within his side ! 
Talk not to me of sheltering hall. 
The Church of God saw Comyn fall ! 
On God's own altar streamed his blood, 
While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood 
The ruthless murderer — e'en as now — 
With armed hand and scornful brow ! — • 
Up, all who love me ! blow on hlow ! 
And lay the outlawed felons low ! " 



Then up sprang many a main-land Lord, 
Obedient to their Chieftain's word. 
Barcaldine's arm is high in air, 
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare, 
Black Murthok's dirk has left its 

sheath, 
And clenched is Dermid's hand of 

death. 
Their muttered threats of vengeance 

swell 
Into a wild and warlike yell : 
Onward they press with weapons high. 
The aiTrighted females shriek and fly, 



2s6 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 
Had darkened ere its noon of day, 
But every chief of birth and fame, 
That from the Isles of Ocean came. 
At Ronald's side that hour withstood 
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood. 



Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, 
Lord of the misty hills of Skye, 
Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, 
Duart, of bold Clan-Gillian's strain, 
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, 
Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay, 
Soon as they saw the broadsword's 

glance, 
With ready weapons rose at once. 
More prompt, that many an ancient 

feud, 
Full oft suppressed, full oft renewed. 
Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle, 
And many a lord of ocean's isle. 
Wild was the scene, — each sword was 

bare, 
Back streamed each chieftain's shaggy 

hair. 
In gloomy opposition set. 
Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons 

met ; 
Blue gleaming o'er the social board. 
Flashed to the torches many a sword ; 
And soon those bridal lights may shine 
On purple blood for rosy wine. 



While thus for blows and death pre- 
pared, 
Each heart was up, each weapon bared, 
Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 
Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
All menaced violence, but alike 
Reluctant each the first to strike, 
(For aye accursed in minstrel line 
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,) 
And, matched in numbers and in might. 
Doubtful and desperate seemed the 

fight. 
Thus threat and murmur died away, 
Till on the crowded hall there lay 
Such silence, as the deadly still. 
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill. 
With blade advanced, each Chieftain 

bold 
Showed like the Sworder's form of old. 



As wanting still the torch of life 
To wake the marble into strife. 



That awful pause the stranger maid, 
And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 
As to De Argentine she clung, 
Away her veil the stranger flung. 
And, lovely mid her wild despair. 
Fast streamed her eyes, wide flowed her 

hair : — 
" O thou, of knighthood once the 

flower. 
Sure refuge in distressful hour, 
I'hou, who in Judah well hast fought 
For our dear faith, and oft hast sought 
Renown in knightly exercise. 
When this poor hand has dealt the prize, 
Say, can thy soul of honor brook 
On the unequal strife to look. 
When, butchered thus in peaceful hall, 
Those once thy friends, my brethren, 

fall?" 
To Argentine she turned her word. 
But her eye sought the Island Lord. 
A flush like evening's setting flame 
Glowed on his cheek ; his hardy frame. 
As with a brief convulsion, shook : 
With hurried voice and eager look, — 
" Fear not," he said, " my Isabel ! 
What said I — Edith ! — all is well — 
Nay, fear not — I will well provide 
The safety of my lovely bride — 
My bride?" — but there the accents 

clung 
In tremor to his faltering tongue. 



Now rose De Argentine, to claim 
The prisoners in his sovereign's name. 
To England's crown, who, vassals 

sworn, 
'Gainst their liege lord had weapon 

borne — 
(Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 
His care their safety to provide ; 
For knight more true in thought and 

deed 
Than Argentine ne'er spurred a steed) 
And Ronald, who his meaning guessed, 
Seemed half to sanction the request. 
This purpose fiery Torquil broke : — 
" Somewhat we 've heard of England's! 

yoke," 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



257 



He said, " and, in our islands, Fame 
Hath whispered of a lawful claim, 
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's 

Lord, 
Though dispossessed by foreign sword. 
This craves reflection, — but though 

right 
Andjustthecharge of England's Knight, 
Let England's crown her rebels seize 
Where she has power ; in towers like 

these, 
Midst Scottish chieftains summoned 

here 
To bridal mirth and bridal cheer. 
Be sure, with no consent of mine, 
Shall either Lorn or Argentine 
With chains or violence, in our sight, 
Oppress a brave and banished Knight." 



"rttcn waKea rrie wild debate again, 
With brawling threat and clamor vain. 
Vassals and menials, thronging in. 
Lent their brute rage to swell the din ; 
When far and wide a bugle-clang 
From the dark ocean upward rang. 
" The Abbot comes ! " they cry at once, 
"The holy man, whose favored glance 

Hath sainted visions known ; 
Angels have met him on the way, 
Beside the blessed martyr's bay, 

And by Coluniba's stone. 
His monks have heard their hymnings 

high 
Sound from the summit of Dun-Y, 

To cheer his penance lone, 
When at each cross, on girth and wold, 
(Their number thrice a hundred-fold,) 
His prayer he made, his beads he told, 

With Aves many a one, — 
He comes our feuds to reconcile, 
A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
We will his holy doom abide. 
The Abbot shall our strife decide." 



Scarcely this fair accord was o'er, 
When through the wide revolving door 

The black-stoled brethren wind ; 
Twelve sandaled monks, who relics 

bore. 
With many a torch-bearer before, 
And many a cross behind. 
17 



Then sunk each fierce uplifted hand, 
And dagger bright and flashing brand 

Dropped swiftly at the sight ; 
They vanished from the Churchman's 

eye, 
As shooting stars, that glance and die, 

Dart from the vault of night. 



The Abbot on the threshold stood, 

And in his hand the holy rood ; 

Back on his shoulders flowed his hood. 

The torch's glaring ray 
Showed in its red and flashing light. 
His withered cheek and amice white. 
His blue eye glistening cold and bright, 

His tresses scant and gray. 
"Fair Lords," he said, " Our Lady's 

love 
And peace be with you from above, 

And Benedicite ! — 
— But what means this? — no peace is 

here 1 — 
Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer? 

Or are these naked brands 
A seemly show for Churchman's sight, 
When he comes summoned to unite 

Betrothed hearts and hands? " 

XXIV. 

Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal. 
Proud Lorn first answered the appeal ; 

" Thou comest, O holy man, 
True sons of blessed Church to greet, 
But little deeming here to meet 

A wretch beneath the ban 
Of Pope and Church for murder done 
Even on the sacred altar-stone. — 
Well may'st thou wonder we should 

know 
Such miscreant here, nor lay him low, 
Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, 
With excommunicated Bruce ! 
Yet well I grant, to end debate. 
Thy sainted voice decide his fate." 



Then Ronald plead the stranger's cause. 
And knighthood's oath and honor's 

laws ; 
And Isabel on bended knee 
Brought prayers and tears to back the 

plea ; 



2S8 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



And Edith lent her generous aid, 
And wept, and Lorn for mercy prayed. 
" Hence," he exclaimed, " degenerate 

maid ! 
Was 't not enough, to Ronald's bower 
I brought thee, like a paramour. 
Or bondmaid at her master's gate, 
His careless cold approach to wait ? 
But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 
The gallant Clifford, seeks thy hand ; 
His it shall be. — Nay, no reply ! 
Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry." 
With grief the Abbot heard and saw, 
Yet naught relaxed his brow of awe. 



Then Argentine, in England's name. 
So highly urged his sovereign's claim, 
He waked a spark, that, long sup- 
pressed. 
Had smouldered in Lord Ronald's 

breast ; 
And now, as from the flint the fire. 
Flashed forth at once his generous ire. 
" Enough of noble blood," he said, 
" By English Edward had been shed. 
Since matchless Wallace first had been 
In mockery crowned with wreaths of 

green, 
And done to death by felon hand 
For guarding well his father's land. 
Where's Nigel Bruce? andDelaHaye, 
And valiant Seton, — where are they? 
Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
And Eraser, flower of chivalry ? 
Have they not been on gibbet bound. 
Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, 
And hold we here a cold debate 
To yield more victims to their fate? 
What ! can the English Leopard's mood 
Never be gorged with northern blood ? 
Was not the life of Athole shed 
To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed ? 
And must his word, till dying day, 
Be naught but quarter, hang, and slay ! 
Thou frown'st, De Argentine, — my 

gage 
Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." — 



" Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's 

knight, 
" That thou shalt brave alone the fight ! 



By saints of isle and main-land both. 
By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,) 
Let Rome and England do their worst, 
Howe'er attainted or accursed, 
If Bruce shall e'er find friends again, 
Once more to brave a battle-plain, 
If Douglas couch again his lance. 
Or Randolph dare another chance, 
Old Torquil will not be to lack 
With twice a thousand at his back. — 
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, 
Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of old 
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn 

will 
Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 
For England's wealth or Rome's 

applause." 



The Abbot seemed with eye severe 
The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear ; 
Then on King Robert turned the Monk, 
But twice his courage came and sunk. 
Confronted with the hero's look ; 
Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 
At length, resolved in tone and brow. 
Sternly he questioned him, — " And 

thou, 
Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead, 
Why I denounce not on thy deed 
That awful doom which canons tell 
Shuts paradise and opens hell ? 
Anathema of power so dread, 
It blends the living with the dead, 
Bids each good angel soar away. 
And every ill one claim his prey ; 
Expels thee from the Church's care. 
And deafens Heaven against thy 

prayer : 
Arms every hand against thy life. 
Bans all who aid thee in the strife. 
Nay, each whose succor, cold and 

scant, 
With meanest alms relieves thy want ; 
Haunts thee while living, — and, when 

dead. 
Dwells on thy yet devoted head. 
Rends Honor's scutcheon from thy 

hearse. 
Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 
And spurns thy corpse from hallowed 

ground. 
Flung like vile carrion to the hound : 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



a59 



Such \s the dire and desperate doom 
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 
And such the well-deserved meed 
Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed." — 



" Abbot ! " the Bruce replied, " thy 

charge 
It boots not to dispute at large. 
This much, howe'er, I bid thee know, 
No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, 
For Comyn died his country's foe. 
Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed 

speed 
Fulfilled my soon-repented deed. 
Nor censure those from whose stern 

tongue 
The dire anathema has rung. 
I only blame mine own wild ire. 
By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 
Heaven knows my purpose toj atone. 
Far as I may, the evil done, 
And hears a penitent's appeal 
From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 
Mjr first and dearest task achieved. 
Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 
Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul. 
While I the blessed cross advance, 
And expiate this unhappy chance 
In Palestine, with sword and lance. 
But while content the Church should 

know 
My conscience owns the debt I owe. 
Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
The name of traitor I return. 
Bid them defiance stern and high, 
And give them in their throats the lie I 
These brief words spoke, I speak no 

more. 
Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is o'er." 



Like man by prodigy amazed, 
Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 
Then o'er his pallid features glance 
Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
His breathing came more thick and fast, 
And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
Strange rays of wild and wandering 

Uprise his locks of silver white. 
Flushed is his brow, through every vein 
In azure tide the currents strain, 



And undistinguished accents broke 
The awful silence ere he spoke. 



" De Bruce I I rose with purpose dread 
To speak my curse upon thy head, 
And give thee as an outcast o'er 
To him who burns to shed thy gore ; — 
But, like the Midianite of old, 
Who stood on Zophim, Heaven-con- 
trolled, 
I feel within mine aged breast 
A power that will not be repressed. 
It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, 
It bums, it maddens, it constrains 1 — 
De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
Hath at God's altar slain thy foe ; 
O'ermastered yet by high behest, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed !" 
He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng 
Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 



Again that light has fired his eye, 
Again his form swells bold and high, 
The broken voice of age is gone, 
'T is vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 
" Thrice vanquished on the battle-plain, 
Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or ta'en, 
A hunted wanderer on the wild, 
On foreign shores a man exiled. 
Disowned, deserted, and distressed, 
I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed 1 
Blessed in the hall and in the field, 
Under the mantle as the shield. 
Avenger of thy country's shame, 
Restorer of her injured fame, 
Blessed in thy sceptre and thy sword, 
De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, 
Blessed in their deeds and in thy fame, 
Whatlengthenedhonors wait thy name I 
In distant ages, sire to son 
Shall tell thy tale of freedom won. 
And teach his infants, in the use 
Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 
Thy course, the theme of many a song J 
The Power, whose dictates swell my 

breast. 
Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt ba 

blessed ! — 
Enough, — my short-lived strength de* 

cays, 
And sinks the momentary blaze. — 



a6o 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Heaven hath our destined purpose 
broke, 

Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ; 

Brethren, our errand here is o'er, 

Our task discharged. — Unmoor, un- 
moor ! " — 



His priests received th« exhausted 

Monk, 
As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
Punctual his orders to obey. 
The train refused all longer stay. 
Embarked, raised sail, and bore away. 



CANTO THIRD. 



I. 



Hast thou not marked, when o'er thy startled head 
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled, 
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold? 
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold, 
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, 
The wall-flower waves not on the ruined hold, 
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill. 
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill. 



Artornish ! such a silence sunk 
Upon thy halls, when that gray Monk 

His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
And his obedient brethren's sail 
Was stretched to meet the southern 
gale 

Before a whisper woke. 
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and 

fear. 
Close poured in many an anxious ear, 

The solemn stillness broke ; 
And still they gazed with eager guess. 
Where, in an oriel's deep recess. 
The Island Prince seemed bent to press 
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer 
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to 
hear. 

III. 
Staning at length with frowning look, 
His hand he clenched, his head he 

shook, 
And sternly flung apart ; — 
"And deem'st thou me so mean of 

mood 
As to forget the mortal feud. 
And clasp the hand with blood imbrued 

From my dear kinsman's heart ? 
Is this thy rede ? — a due return 
For ancient league and friendship 

sworn I 
But well our mountain proverb shows 
The faith of Islesm*'D libbs and flows 



Be it even so, — believe, erelong, 

He that now bears shall wreak the 

wrong. — 
Call Edith, — call the Maid of Lorn I 
My sister, slaves ! — for further scorn 
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
Away, De Argentine, away ! — 
We nor ally nor brother know 
lu Bruce's friend or England's foe." 



But who the Chieftain's rage can tell, 
When, sought from lowest dungeon 

cell 
To highest tower the castle round, 
No Lady Edith was there found I 
He shouted, — " Falsehood ! — treach- 
ery ! — 
Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed 
To him that will avenge the deed ! 
A Baron's lands ! " — His frantic mood 
Was scarcely by the news withstood. 
That Morag shared his sister's flight. 
And that, in hurry of the night, 
'Scaped noteless, and without remark. 
Two strangers sought the Abbot's 

bark. — 
" Man every galley ! — fly, — pursue 1 
The priest his treachery shall rue ! 
Ay, and the time shall quickly come. 
When we shall hear the thanks that 

Rome 
Will pay his feigned prophecy ! " 
Such was fierce Lom's indignant cry; 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



261 



And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed, 
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weighed 
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
A pirate sworn was Corinac Doil). 
But others, lingering, spoke apart, — 
" The maid has given her maiden heart 

To Ronald of the Isles, 
And, fearful lest her brother's word 
Bestow her on that English Lord, 

She seeks lona's piles. 
And wisely deems it best to dwell 
A votaress in the holy cell. 
Until these feuds so fierce and fell 

The Abbot reconciles." 



As, impotent of ire, the hall 
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call, — 
" My horse, my mantle, and my train 1 
Let none who honors Lorn remain ! " — 
Courteous, but stern, a bold request 
To Bruce De Argentine expressed : — 
" Lord Earl," he said, — "I cannot 

choose 
But yield such title to the Bruce, 
Though name and earldom both are 

gone. 
Since he braced rebel's armor on, — 
But, Earl or Serf, rude phrase was thine 
Of late, and launched at Argentine ; 
Such as compels me to demand 
Redress of honor at thy hand. 
We need not to each other tell 
That both can wield their weapons well ; 
Then do me but the soldier grace 
This glove upon thy helm to place 

Where we may meet in fight ; 
And I will say, as still I 've said, 
Though by ambition far misled, 
Thou art a noble knight." — 



"And I," the princely Bruce replied, 
"Might term it stain on knighthood"? 

pride, 
That the bright sword of Argentine 
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine : 

But, for your brave request, 
Be sure the honored pledge you ga«a 
In every battle-field shall wave 

Upon my helmet-crest ; 
Believe, that if my hasty tongue 
Hath done 'June hono'cauself'.ss wrong, 

It shall be -vel* ..e^resFed. 



Not dearer to my soul was glove. 
Bestowed in youth by lady's love. 

Than this which thou hast given I 
Thus, then, my noble foe I greet ; 
Health and high fortune till we meet. 

And then — what pleases Heaven." 



Thus parted they — for now, with sound 
Like waves rolled back from rocky 
ground. 

The friends of Lorn retire : 
Each main-land chieftain, with hisirain. 
Draws to his mountain towers again. 
Pondering how mortal schemes prove 
vain. 

And mortal hopes expire. 
But through the castle double guard, 
By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward, 
Wicket and gate were trebly barred, 

By beam and bolt and chain ; 
Then of the guests, in courteous sort, 
He prayed excuse for mirth broke short, 
And bade them in Artornish fort 

In confidence remain. 
Now torch and menial tendance led 
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed. 
And beads were told, and Aves said, 

And soon they sunk away 
Into such sleep as wont to shed 
Oblivion on the weary head, 

After a toilsome day. 



But soon uproused, the Monarch cried 
To Edward, slumbering by his side, 

" Awake, or sleep for aye ! 
Even now there jarred a secret door — 
A taper-light gleams on the floor — 

Up, Edward ! up, I say ! 
Some one glides in like midnight ghost — 
Nay, strike not ! 't is our noble Host." 
Advancing then his taper's flame, 
Ronald stept forth, and with him came 
Dunvegan's chief: each bent the knee 
To Bruce in sign of fealty, 

And proffered him his sword. 
And hailed him, in a monarch's style. 
As king of main-land and of isle, 
And Scotland's rightful lord. 
"And oh," said Ronald, "Owned of 

Heaven ! 
Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 
By falsehood's arts from duty driven. 



262 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Who rebel falchion drew, 
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame, 
Even while I strove against thy claim, 

Paid homage just and true ? " — 
" Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
Answered the Bruce, "must bear the 
crime, 

Since, guiltier far than you, 
Even I " — he paused ; for Falkirk's 

woes. 
Upon his conscious soul arose. 
The Chieftain to his breast he pressed, 
And in a sigh concealed the rest. 



They proffered aid, by arms and might, 
To repossess him in his right ; 
But well their counsels must be weighed, 
Ere banners raised and musters made, 
p'or English hire and Lorn's intrigues 
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. 
In answer, Bruce his purpose bold 
To his new vassals frankly told : — 
" The winter worn in exile o'er, 
I longed for Carrick's kindred shore. 
I thought upon my native Ayr, 
And longed to see the burly fare 
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 
Now echoes through my father's hall. 
But first my course to Arran led. 
Where valiant Lennox gathers head. 
And on the sea, by tempest tossed. 
Our barks dispersed, our purpose 

crossed. 
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun. 
Far from her destined course had run. 
When that wise will, which masters 

ours. 
Compelled us to your friendly towers." 



Then Torquil spoke : — " The time 

craves speed ! 
We must not linger in our deed. 
But instant pray our Sovereign Liege 
To shun the perils of a siege. 
The vengeful Lorn, with all his powers. 
Lies but too near Artornish towers, 
And England's light- armed vessels ride, 
Not distant far, the waves of Clyde, 
Prompt at these tidings to unmoor. 
And sweep each strait, and guard each 

shor*. 



Then, till this fresh alarm pass by, ' 
Secret and safe my liege must lie 
In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 
Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." — 
" Not so, brave Chieftain," Ronald 

cried ; 
" Myself will on my Sovereign wait. 
And raise in arms the men of Sleate, 
Whilst thou, renowned where chiefs 

debate, 
Shalt sway their souls by counsel sage, 
And awe them by thy locks of age." 
— "And if my words in weight shall 

fail. 
This ponderous sword shall turn the 

scale." 



" The scheme," said Bruce, " contents 

me well ; 
Meantime, 't were best that Isabel, 
For safety, with my bark and crew, 
Again to friendly Erin drew. 
There Edward, too, shall with her 

wend. 
In need to cheer her and defend. 
And muster up each scattered friend." — 
Here seemed it as Lord Ronald's ear 
Would other counsel gladlier hear ; 
But, all achieved as soon as planned. 
Both barks, in secretarmedand manned. 

From out the haven bore : 
On different voj'age forth they ply, — 
This for the coast of winged Skye, 

And that for Erin's shore. 



With Bruce and Ronald bides the 

tale. — 
To favoring winds they gave the sail. 
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they 

knew. 
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue. 
But then the squalls blew close and 

hard. 
And, fain to strike the galley's yard. 

And take them to the oar, 
With these rude seas, in weary plight, 
They strove the livelong day and night. 
Nor till the dawning had a sight 

Of Skye's romantic shore. 
Where Coolin stoops him to the west, 
They saw upon his shivered crest 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



263 



The sun's arising gleam ; 
But such the labor and delay, 
Ere they were moored in Scavigh bay, 
(For calmer Heaven compelled to stay,) 

He shot a western beam. 
Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye, 
These are the savage wilds that lie 
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye ; 

No human foot comes here, 
And, since these adverse breezes blow. 
If my good Liege love hunter's bow, 
What hinders that on land we go, 

And strike a mountain-deer? 
Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
A bow full deftly can he bend. 
And, if we meet a herd, may send 

A shaft shall mend our cheer." 
Then each took bow and bolts in hand. 
Their row-boat launched, and leapt to 
land. 

And left their skiff and train. 
Where a wild stream with headlong 

shock 
Came brawling down its bed of rock 

To mingle with the main. 



Awhile their route they silent made. 

As men who stalk for mountain- 
deer. 
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, — 

"Saint Mary ! what a scene is here ! 
I 've traversed many a mountain-strand, 
Abroad and in my native land. 
And it has been my lot to tread 
Where safety more than pleasure led ; 
Thus many a waste I 've wandered o'er, 
Clomb many a crag, crossed many a 
moor. 

But, by my halidome, 
A scene so rude, so wild as this, 
Yet so sublime in barrenness. 
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps 
press. 

Where'er I happed to roam." 



No marvel thus the Monarch spake ; 

For rarely human eye has known 
A scene so stern as that dread lake. 

With its dark ledge of barren stone. 
Seems that primeval earthquake's 

sway 
Hath rent a strange and shattered way 



Through the rude bosom of the 
hill. 
And that each naked precipice. 
Sable ravine, and dark abyss. 

Tells of the outrage still. 
The wildest glen, but this, can show 
Some touch of Nature's genial glow; 
On high Benmore green mosses grow. 
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, 

And copse on Cruchan-Ben ; 
But here, — above, around, below. 

On mountain or in glen, 
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor 

flower, 
Nor aught of vegetative power. 

The weary eye may ken. 
For all is rocks at random thrown. 
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of 
stone. 

As if were here denied 
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew. 
That clothe with many a varied hue 

The bleakest mountain-side. 



And wilder, forward as they wound, 
/Were the proud cliffs and lake pro- 
found. 
Huge terraces of granite black 
Afforded rude and cumbered track ; 

For from the mountain hoar. 
Hurled headlong in some night of fea:; 
When yelled the wolf and fled the deer, 

Loose crags had toppled o'er ; 
And some, chance-poised and bsd- 

anced, lay. 
So that a stripling arm might sway 

A mass no host could raise. 
In Nature's rage at random thrown, 
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 

On its precarious base. 
The evening mists, with ceaseless 

change. 
Now clothed the mountains' lofty 
range. 
Now left their foreheads bare. 
And round the skirts their mantle 

furled. 
Or on the sable waters curled. 
Or on the eddying breezes whirled, 

Dispersed in middle air. 
And oft, condensed, at once they lower. 
When, brief and fierce, the mountain 
shower 



a64 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Pours like a torrent down, 
And when return the sun's glad beams, 
Whitened with foam a thousand streams 

Leap from the mountain's crown. 



"This lake," said Bruce, " whose bar- 
riers drear 
Are precipices sharp and sheer. 
Yielding no track for goat or deer, 

Save the black shelves we tread, 
How term you its dark waves? and 

how 
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow, 

And yonder peak of dread. 
That to the evening sun uplifts 
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts. 

Which seam its shivered head ? " — 
"Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim, 
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
But bards, familiar in our isles 
Rather with Nature's frowns than 

smiles, 
Full oft their careless humors please 
By sportive names from scenes like 

these. 
I would old Torquil were to show 
His maidens with their breasts of snow. 
Or that my noble Liege were nigh 
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby ! 
(The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers 

white, 
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might,) 
Or that your eye could see the mood 
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 
When dons the Hag her whitened 

hood — 
'T is thus our islesmen's fancy frames. 
For scenes so stern, fantastic names." 



Answered the Bruce, " And musing 

mind 
Might here a graver moral find. 
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high 
Their naked brows to middle sky, 
Indifferent to the sun or snow, 
Where naught can fade, and naught 

can blow. 
May they not mark a Monarch's fate, — 
Raised high 'mid storms of strife and 

state, 



Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed. 
His soul a rock, his heart a waste? 
O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
High rears his crowned head. — But 

soft! 
Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
Are hunters and a slaughtered stag. 
Who may they be ? But late you said 
No steps these desert regions tread ? " — 



" So said I, — and believed in sooth," 
Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth. 
Yet now I spy, by yonder stone. 
Five men — they mark us, and come 

on ; 
And by their badge on bonnet borne 
I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
Foes to my Liege."—" So let it be ; 
I 've faced worse odds than five to 

three — 
— But the poor page can little aid ; 
Then be our battle thus arrayed, 
If our free passage they contest ; 
Cope thou with two, I '11 match the 

rest." — 
" Not so, my Liege — for, by my life. 
This sword shall meet the treble strife ; 
My strength, my skill in arms, more 

small, 
And less the loss should Ronald fall. 
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow, 
Allan has sword as well as bow. 
And were my Monarch's order given, 
Two shafts should make our number 

even." — 
" No ! not to save my life ! " he said ; 
" Enough of blood rests on my head, 
Too rashly spilled — we soon shall 

know 
Whether they come as friend or foe." 



Nigh came the strangers, and more 

nigh ; — 
Still less they pleased the Monarch's 

eye. 
Men were they all of evil mien, 
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen ; 
They moved with half-resolved pace, 
And bent on earth each gloomy face. 
Tlie foremost two were fair arrayed. 
With brogue and bonnet, trews and 

plaid, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



265 



And bore the arms of mountaineers, 

Daggers and broadswords, bows and 
spears. 

The three, that lagged small space be- 
hind, 

Seemed serfs of more degraded kind ; 

Goat-skins or deer-hides, o'er them 
cast. 

Made a rude fence against the blast ; 

Their arms and feet and heads were 
bare. 

Matted their beards, unshorn their 
hair; 

For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand 

A club, an axe, a rusty brand. 



Onward, still mute, they kept the 

track ; — 
"Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 
Said Bruce. " In deserts when they 

meet. 
Men pass not as in peaceful street." 
Still, at his stern command, they stood. 
And proffered greeting brief and rude, 
But acted courtesy so ill. 
As seemed of fear, and not of will. 
" Wanderers we are, as you may be ; 
Men hither driven by wind and sea. 
Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 
Will share with you this fallow deer." — 
"If from the sea, where lies your 

bark?"— 
" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
Wrecked yesternight : but we are men. 
Who little sense of peril ken. 
The shades come down — the day is 

shut — 
Will you go with us to our hut ? " — 
*' Our vessel waits us in the bay ; 
Thanks for your proffer — have good 

day." — 
" Was that your galley, then, which 

rode 
Not far from shore when evening 

glowed? " — 
" It was." — " Then spare your need- 
less pain. 
There will she now be sought in vain. 
We saw her from the mountain head. 
When, with St. George's blazon red 
A southern vessel bore in sight. 
And yours raised sail and took to 

flight."— 



" Now, by the rood, unwelcome news ! " 
Thus with Lord Ronald communed 

Bruce ; 
" Nor rests there light enough to show 
If this their tale be true or no. 
The men seem bred of churlish kind, 
Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 
We will go with them, — food and fire 
And sheltering roof our wants require. 
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we 

keep. 
And watch by turns our comrades' 

sleep. — 
Good fellows, thanks, your guests we '11 

be, 
And well will pay the courtesy. 
Come, lead us where your lodging lies, — 
Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 
Show us the path o'er crag and stone, 
And we will follow you ; — lead on." 



They reached the dreary cabin, made 
Of sails against a rock displayed. 

And there, on entering, found 
A slender boy, whose form and mien 
111 suited with such savage scene, 
In cap and cloak of velvet green, 

Low seated on the ground. 
His garb was such as minstrels wear. 
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair. 
His youthful cheek was marred by care, 

His eyes in sorrow drowned. 
" Whence this poor boy ? " — As Ro- 
nald spoke. 
The voice his trance of anguish broke ; 
As if awaked from ghastly dream. 
He raised his head with start and scream. 

And wildly gazed around ; 
Then to the wall his face he turned. 
And his dark neck with blushes burned. 



" Whose is the boy ? " again he said. 

" By chance of war our captive made ; 

He may be yours, if you should hold 

That music has more charms than gold ; 

For, though from earliest childhood 
mute. 

The lad can deftly touch the lute. 
And on the rote and viol play. 
And well can drive the time away 



266 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



For those who love such glee ; 
For m e, the favoring breeze, when loud 
It pipes upon the galley's shroud, 

Makes blither melody." — 
*' Hath he, then, sense of spoken 
sound ?" 

" Ay ; so his mother bade us know, 
A crone in our late shipwreck drowned. 

And hence the silly stripling's woe. 
More of the youth I cannot say. 
Our captive but since yesterday ; 
When wind and weather waxed so grim, 
We little listed think of him. — 
But why waste time in idle words? 
Sit to your cheer, — unbelt your swords." 
Sudden the captive turned his head, 
And one quick glance to Ronald sped. 
It was a keen and warning look. 
And well the Chief the signal took. 



*' Kind host," he said, "our needs re- 
quire 
A separate board and separate fire ; 
For know, that on a pilgrimage 
Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
And, sworn to vigil and to fast, 
Long as this hallowed task shall last. 
We never doff the plaid or sword, 
Or feast us at a stranger's board : 
And never share one common sleep, 
But one must still his vigil keep. ' 
Thus, for our separate use, good friend, 
We '11 hold this hut's remoter end " — 
" A churlish vow," the elder said, 
" And hard, methinks, to be obeyed. 
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
That pays our kindness harsh return, 
We should refuse to share our meal? " — 
"Then say we that our swords are steel ! 
And our vows bind us not to fast. 
Where gold or force may buy repast." — 
Their host's dark brow grew keen and 

fell, 
His teeth are clenched, his features 

swell ; 
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire 
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire, 
Nor could his craven courage brook 
The Monarch's calm and dauntless 

look. 
With laugh constrained, — '* Let every 

man 
Follow the fashion of his clan 1 



Each to his separate quarters keep, 
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." 



Their fire at separate distance burns, 
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns ; 
For evil seemed that old man's eye, 
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
Still he avoided forward look. 
But slow, and circumspectly took 
A circling, never-ceasing glance. 
By doubt and cunning marked at once, 
Which shot a mischief-boding ray, 
From under eyebrows shagged and gray. 
The younger, too, who seemed his son, 
Had that dark look the timid shun ; 
The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 
And scowled a glare 'twixt fear and 

hate, — 
Till all, as darkness onward crept. 
Couched down, and seemed to sleep, 

or slept. 
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless 

tongue 
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, 
A longer watch of sorrow made. 
But stretched his limbs to slumber laid. 



Not in his dangerous host confides 
The King, but wary watch provides. 
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, 
Then wakes the King, young Allan last ; 
Thus ranked, to give the youthful page 
The rest required by tender age. 
What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought, 
To chase the languor toil had brought? 
(For deem not that he deigned to throw 
Much care upon such coward foe.) 
He thinks of lovely Isabel, 
When at her foeman's feet she fell. 
Nor less when, placed in princely sella, 
She glanced on him with favoring eyes, 
At Woodstock when he won the prize. 
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 
In pride of place as 'mid despair. 
Must she alone engross his care. 
His thoughts to his betrothed bride, 
To Edith, turn, — O how decide, 
When here his love and heart are given, 
And there his faith stands plight to 

Heaven ! 
No drowsy ward 't is his to keep, 
For seldom lovers long for sieep. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



267 



Till sung his midnight hymn the owl, 
Answered the dog-fox with his howl, 
Then waked the King, — at his request, 
Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest. 



What spell was good King Robert's, 

say, 
To drive the weary night away ? . 
His was the patriot's burning thought. 
Of Freedom's battle bravely fought, 
Of castles stormed, of cities freed. 
Of deep design and daring deed, 
Of England's roses reft and torn. 
And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 
Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 
As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 
No marvel, 'mid such musings high, 
Sleep shunned the Monarch's thought- 
ful eye. 
Now over Coolin's eastern head 
The grayish light begins to spread. 
The otter to his cavern drew. 
And clamored shrill the wakening mew; 
Then watched the Page, — to needful 

rest 
The King resigned his anxious breast. 



To Allan's eyes was harder task, 
The weary watch their safeties ask. 
He trimmed the fire, and gave to shine 
With bickering light the splintered 

pine ; 
Then gazed awhile, where silent laid 
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. 
But little fear waked in his mind, 
For he was bred of martial kind. 
And, if to manhood he arrive. 
May match the boldest knight alive. 
Then thought he of his mother's tow- 
er. 
His little sister's greenwood bower. 
How there the Easter-gambols pass. 
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass. 
But still before his weary eye 
In rays prolonged the blazes die, — 
Again he roused him, — on the lake 
Looked forth, where now the twilight- 
flake 
Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled. 
The morning breeze the lake had curled, 



The short dark waves,heaved to the land. 
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or 

sand ; — 
It was a slumbrous sound, — he turned 
To tales at which his youth had burned, 
Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed, 
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost. 
Of the wild witch's baneful cot. 
And mermaid's alabaster grot, 
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well 
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. 
Thither in fancy rapt he flies, 
And on his sight the vaults arise ; 
That hut's dark walls he sees no more, 
His foot is on the marble floor, 
And o'er his head the dazzling spars 
Gleam like a firmament of stars ! — 
Hark ! hearshenotthe sea-nymph speak 
Her anger in that thrilling shriek ! — 
No ! all too late, with Allan's dream 
Mingled the captive's warning scream. 
As from the ground he strives to start, 
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart ! 
Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, .... 
Murmurs his master's name, .... and 

dies 1 



Not so awoke the King ! his hand 
Snatched from the flame a knottedbrand. 
The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
With this he crossed the murderer'spath, 

And venged young Allan well ! 
The spattered brain and bubbling blood 
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood, 

The miscreant gasped and fell ! 
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ; 
One caitiff died upon his sword, 
And one beneath his grasp lies prone, 
In mortal grapple overthrown. 
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank 
The life-blood from his panting flank. 
The Father-ruffian of the band 
Behind him rears a coward hand ! — 

O for a moment's aid. 
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow. 
Dash to the earth another foe, 

Above his comrade laid ! — 
And it is gained, — the captive sprung 
On the raised arm, and closely clung. 

And, ere he shook him loose, 
The mastered felon pressed the ground. 
And gasped beneath a mortal wound. 

While o'er him stands the Bruce. 



368 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



" Miscreant 1 while lasts thy flitting 

spark, 
Give me to know the purpose dark, 
That armed thy hand with murderous 

knife. 
Against offenceless stranger's life ? " — 
"No stranger thou ! "with accent fell, 
Murmured the wretch : " I know thee 

well ; 
And know thee for the foeman sworn 
Of my high Chief, the mighty Lorn." — 
" Speak yet again, and speak the truth 
For thy soul's sake ! — from whence this 

youth ? 
His country, birth, and name declare, 
And thus one evil deed repair." — 
•' Vex me no more ! . • . . my blood 

runs cold 

No more I know than I have told. 
We found him in a bark we sought 
With different purpose .... and I 

thought — " ..... 
Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil, 
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. 



Then resting on his bloody blade, 
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, — 
" Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 

Lifts his mute face to heaven, 
And clasps his hands, to testify 
His gratitude to God on high. 

For strange deliverance given. 
His speechless gesture thanks hath 

paid. 
Which our free tongues have left un- 
said ! " 
He raised the youth with kindly word. 
But marked him shudder at the sword : 



He cleansed it from its hue of death, 
And plunged the weapon in its sheath. 
" Alas, poor child ! unfitting part 
Fate doomed, when with so soft a heart. 

And form so slight as thine. 
She made thee first a pirate's slave, 
Then, in his stead, a patron gave 

Of wayward lot like mine ; 
A landless prince, whose wandering life 
Is but one scene of blood and strife, — 
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be, 
But he '11 find resting-place for thee. — 
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead 
Enough thy generous grief is paid, 
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ; 
Come, wend we hence, — the day has 

broke. 
Seek we our bark, — I trust the tale 
Was false, that she had hoisted sail." 



Yet, ere they left that chamel-cell, 
1'he Island Lord bade sad farewell 
To Allan : — " Who shall tell this tale," 
He said, " in halls of Donagaile ! 
O, who his widowed mother tell. 
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! — 
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care 
For mass and knell and funeral prayer ; 
While o'er those caitiffs where the) lie. 
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry ! " — 
And now the eastern mountain's head 
On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
Ravine and precipice and peak, — 
(So earthly power at distance shows ; 
Reveals his splendor, hides his woes.) 
O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad> 
Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
In sad discourse the warriors wind, 
And the mute captive moves behind 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 
Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed. 
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; 
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known. 
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, 
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown 
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry. 
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



a69 



Yes ! 't was sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; 
And strange and awful fears began to press 
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. 
Then hast thou wished some woodman's cottage nigh. 
Something that showed of life, though low and mean; 
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy. 
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been, 
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green. 

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes 
An awful thrill that softens into sighs ; 
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes. 
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise ; 
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies, 
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
Of desert dignity to that dread shore, 
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar. 



Through such wild scenes the champion 
passed. 

When bold halloo and bugle-blast 

Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 

"There," said the Bruce, " rung Ed- 
ward's horn ! 

What can have caused such brief re- 
turn ? 

And see, brave Ronald, — see him 
dart 

O'er stock and stone like hunted hart, 

Precipitate, as is the use. 

In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 

— He marks us, and his eager cry 

Will tell his news ere he be nigh." 



Loud Edward shouts, " What make ye 

here. 
Warring upon the mountain-deer. 

When Scotland wants her King? 
A bark from Lennox crossed our track, 
With her in speed I hurried back, 
These joyful news to bring — 
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won its 

way 
With little loss to Brodick Bay, 
And Lennox, with a gallant band, 
Waits but thy coming and command 
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand. 



There are blithe news ! — but mark the 

close ! 
Edward, the deadliest of our foes. 
As with his host he northward passed, 
Hath on the borders breathed his last." 



Still stood the Bruce, — his steady 

cheek 
Was little wont his joy to speak. 

But then his color rose : — 
" Now, Scotland 1 shortly shall thou 

see. 
With God's high will, thy children 
free. 

And vengeance on thy foes ! 
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
Bear witness with me, Heaven, be- 
longs 

My joy o'er Edward's bier ; 
I took my knighthood at his hand, 
And lordship held of him, and land. 

And well may vouch it here, 
That, blot the story from his page. 
Of Scotland ruined in his rage. 
You read a monarch brave and sage. 

And to his people dear." — 
" Let London's burghers mourn her 

Lord, 
And Croydon monks his praise record," 

The eager Edward said ; 
" Eternal as his own, my hate 
Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate. 

And dies not with the dead 1 



270 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Such hate was his on Solway's strand, 
When vengeance clenched his palsied 

hand, 
That pointed yet to Scotland's land. 

As his last accents prayed 
Disgrace and curse upon his heir. 
If he one Scottish head should spare. 
Till stretched upon the bloody lair 

Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
Such hate was his, when his last breath 
Renounced the peaceful house of death, 
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast 
Be borne by his remorseless host, 
As if his dead and stony eye 
Could still enjoy her misery ! 
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long: 
Mine, — as enduring, deep, and 
strong ! " — 



" Let women, Edward, war with words. 
With curses monks, but men with 

swords ; 
Nor doubt of living foes, to sate 
Deepest revenge and deadliest hate. 
Now, to the sea ! Behold the beach. 
And see the galley's pendants stretch 
Their fluttering length down favoring 

gale ! 
Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the sail. 
Hold we our way for Arran first, 
Where meet in arms our friends dis- 
persed ; 
Lennox the loyal, De la Have, 
And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 
I long the hardy band to head. 
And see once more my standard 

spread. — 
Does noble Ronald share our course. 
Or stay to raise his island force ? " — 
" Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's 

side," 
Replied the Chief, " will Ronald bide. 
And since two galleys yonder ride. 
Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed 
To wake to arms the clans of Ulst, 
And all who hear the Minche's roar, 
On the Long Island's lonely shore. 
The nearer Isles, with slight delay. 
Ourselves may summon in our way ; 
And soon on Arran's shore shall meet. 
With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet. 
If aught avails their Chieftain's best 
Among the islesmen of the west." 



Thus was their venturous counsel said 
But, ere their sails the galleys spread, 
Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. 
Along that sable lake passed slow — 
Fit scene for such a sight of woe — 
The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore 
The murdered Allan to the shore. 
At every pause, with dismal shout, 
Their coronach of grief rung out. 
And ever, when they moved again. 
The pipes resumed their clamorous 

strain. 
And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail, 
Mourned the young heir of Donagaile. 
Round and around, from cliff and cave, 
His answer stern old Coolin gave. 
Till high upon his misty side 
Languished the mournful notes, and 

died. 
For never sounds, by mortal made. 
Attained his high and haggard head, 
That echoes but the tempest's moan, 
Or the deep thunder's rending groan. 



Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, 

She bounds before the gale. 
The mountain breeze from Ben-na- 
darch 

Is joyous in her sail ! 
With fluttering sound like laughter 
hoarse, 

The cords and canvas strain, 
The waves, divided by her force. 
In rippling eddies chased her course, 

As if they laughed again. 
Not down the breeze more blithely 

flew, 
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, 

Than the gay galley bore 
Her course upon that favoring wind. 
And Coolin's crest has sunk behii.d, 

And Slapin's caverned shore. 
'T was then that warlike signals wake 
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's 

lake, 
And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head 
Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were 

spread ; 
A summons these of war and wrath 
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



271 



And, ready at the sight, 
Each warrior to his weapon sprung. 
And targe upon his shoulder flung. 

Impatient for the tight. 
Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray, 
Had charge to muster their array, 
And guide their barks to Brodick Bay. 



Signal of Ronald's high command, 
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land. 
From Canna's tower, that, steep and 

gray, 
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay. 
Seek not the giddy crag to climb, 
To view the turret scathed by time ; 
It is a task of doubt and fear 
To aught but goat or mountain deer. 
But rest thee on the silver beach, 
And let the aged herdsman teach 

His tale of former day ; 
His cur's wild clamor he shall chide. 
And for thy seat by ocean's side. 

His varied plaid display ; 
Then tell, how with their Chieftain 

came. 
In ancient times, a foreign dame 

To yonder turret gray. 
Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind, 
Who in so rude a jail confined 

So soft and fair a thrall ! 
And oft, when moon on ocean slept, 
That lovely lady sate and wept 

Upon the castle wall. 
And turned her eye to southern climes. 
And thought perchance of happier times. 
And touched her lute by fits, and sung 
Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
And still, when on the cliff and bay 
Placid and pale the moonbeams play, 

And every breeze is mute, 
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear. 
While from that cliff he seems to hear 

The murmur of a lute. 
And sounds, as of a captive lone, 
That mourns her woes in tongue un- 
known. — 
Strange is the tale, — but all too long 
Already hath it stayed the song, — 

Yet who may pass them by, 
That crag and tower in ruins gray, 
Nor to their hapless tenant pay 

The tribute of a sigh ! 



Merrily, merrily bounds the bark 
O'er the broad ocean driven, 
Her path by Ronin's mountains dark 
The steersman's hand hath given. 
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent 

Their hunters to the shore, 
And each his ashen bow unbent, 

And gave his pastime o'er. 
And, at the Island Lord's command. 
For hunting-spear took warrior's brand. 
On Scooreigg next a warning light 
Summoned her warriors to the fight ; 
A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod 
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance 

strode, 
When all in vain the ocean cave 
Its refuge to his victims gave. 
The Chief, relentless in his wrath, 
With blazing heath blockades the path ; 
In dense and stifling volumes rolled. 
The vapor filled the caverned hold ! 
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain. 
The mother's screams, were heard in 

vain ; 
The vengeful Chief maintains his fires. 
Till in the vault a tribe expires ! 
The bones which strew that cavern's 

gloom 
Too well attest their dismal doom. 



Merrily, merrily goes the bark 

On a breeze from the northward free. 
So shoots through the morning sky the 
lark. 

Or the swan through the summer 
sea. 
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, 
And Ulva dark, and Colonsay, 
And all the group of islets gay 

That guard famed Staffa round. 
Then all unknown its columns rose, 
Where dark and undisturbed repose 

The cormorant had found. 
And the shy seal had quiet home. 
And weltered in that wondrous dome 
Where, as to shame the temples decked 
By skill of earthly architect. 
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise 
A Minster to her Maker's praise ! 
Not for a meaner use ascend 
Her columns, or her arches bend -• 



272 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, 
And still, between each awful pause, 
From the high vault an answer draws, 
In varied tone prolonged and high. 
That mocks the organ's melodj'. 
Nor doth its entrance front in vain 
To old lona's holy fane, 
That Nature's voice might seem to 

say, 
" Well hast thou done, frail Child of 

clay I 
Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
Tasked high and hard, — but witness 

mine 1 " 



Merrily, merrily goes the bark, — 

Before the gale she bounds ; 
So darts the do^^hin from the shark. 

Or the deer before the hounds. 
They left Loch-Tua on their lee, 
And they wakened the men of the wild 
Tiree, 

And the Chief of the sandy Coll ; 
They paused not at Columba's isle, 
Though pealed the bells from the holy 
pile 

With long and measured toll ; 
No time for matin or for mass, 
And the sounds of the holy summons 
pass 

Away in the billows' roll. 
Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord 
Their signal saw, and grasped his sword. 
And verdant Hay called her host, 
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 

Lord Ronald's call obey, 
And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar. 

And lonely Colonsay; — 
Scenes sung by him who sings no more I 
His bright and brief career is o'er. 

And mute his tuneful strains ; 
Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, 
That loved the light of song to pour ; 
A distant and a deadly shore 

Has Levden's cold remains 1 



Ever the breeze blows merrily. 
But the galley ploughs no more the sea; 
Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet 
The southern foeman's watchful fleet, 



They held unwonted way ; • — 
Up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 
Then dragged their bark the isthmus 

o'er, 
As far as Kilmaconnel's shore, 

Upon the eastern bay. 
It was a wondrous sight to see 
Topmast and pennon glitter free, 
High raised above the greenwood tree. 
As on dry land the galley moves. 
By cliff and copse and alder-groves. 
Deep import from that selcouth sign, 
Did many a mountain Seer divine, 
For ancient legends told the Gael, 
That when a royal bark should sail 

O'er Kilmaconnel moss. 
Old Albyn should in fight prevail, 
And every foe should faint and quail 

Before her silver Cross. 



Nowlatinched once more, the inland sea 
They furrow with fair augur}'. 

And steer for Arran's isle ; 
The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
Ben-Ghoil, "the Mountain of the 

Wind," 
Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind. 

And bade Loch Ranza smile. 
Thither their destined course they drewj 
It seemed the isle her monarch knew. 
So brilliant was the landward view, 

The ocean so serene ; 
Each puny wave in diamonds rolled 
O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold. 

With azure strove and green. 
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower. 
Glowed with the tints of evening's hour. 

The beach was silver sheen. 
The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, 
And, oft renewed, seemed oft to die, 

With breathless pause between. 
O who with speech of war and woes 
Would wish to break the soft repose 

Of such enchanting scene I 



Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks? 
The blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 
The timid look, and downcast eye. 
And faltering voice, the theme deny. 

And good King Robert's brow ex- 
pressed, 

He pondered o'er some high request. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 



273 



As doubtful to approve ; 
Yet in his eye and lip the while 
Dwelt the half-pitying glance and 

smile 
Which manhood's graver mood be- 
guile 
When lovers talk of love. 
Anxious his suit Lord Ronald plead : — 
"And for my bride betrothed," he said, 
" My Liege has heard the rumor spread 
Of Edith from Artornish fled. 
Too hard her fate, — I claim no right 
To blame her for her hasty flight ; 
Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 
But she hath fled the bridal knot, 
And Lorn recalled his promised plight 
In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
When, to fulfil our fathers' band, 
I proffered all I could — my hand — 

I was repulsed with scorn ; 
Mine honor I should ill assert, 
And worse the feelings of my heart, 
If I should play a suitor's part 
Again, to pleasure Lorn." — 



"Young Lord," the Royal Bruce re- 
plied, 
"That question must the Church 

decide ; 
Yet seems it hard, since rumors state 
Edith takes Clifford for her mate. 
The very tie, which she hath broke. 
To thee should still be binding yoke. 
But, for my sister Isabel — 
The mood of woman who can tell ? 
I gue.ss the Champion of the Rock, 
Victorious in the tourney shock, 
That knight unknown, to whom the nrize 
She dealt, — had favor in her eyes ; 
But since our brother Nigel's fate. 
Our ruined house and hapless state. 
From worldly joy and hope estranged. 
Much is the hapless mourner chantjed. 
Perchance," here smiled the noble 

King, 
"This tale may other musings bring. 
Soon shall we know — yon mountains 

hide 
The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
There, sent by Edward, she must stav. 
Till fate shall give more prosperous day ; 
And thither will I bear thy suit. 
Nor will thine advocate be mute." 
iS 



As thus they talked in earnest mood, 
That speechless boy beside them stood. 
He stooped his head against the mast, 
And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 
A grief that would not be repressed. 
But seemed to burst his youthful breast. 
His hands, against his forehead held. 
As if by force his tears repelled. 
But through his fingers, long and slight. 
Fast trilled the drops of crystal bright. 
Edward, who walked the deck apart. 
First spied this conflict of the heart. 
Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness 

kind 
He sought tocheerthe sorrower's mind; 
By force the slender hand he drew 
From those poor eyes thatstreamed with 

dew. 
As in his hold the stripling strove, — 
('T was a rough grasp, though meant in 

love,) 
Away his tears the warrior swept. 
And bade shame on him that he wept. 
" I would to Heaven thy helpless tongue 
Could tell me who hath wrought thee 

wrong ! 
For, were he of our crew the best. 
The insult went not unredressed. 
Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age 
To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 
O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear, 
To hold my bow in himting-grove, 
Or speed on errand to my love ; 
For well I wot thou wilt not tell 
The temple where my wishes dwell." 



Bruce interposed, — " Gay Edward, no. 

This is no youth to hold thy bow. 

To fill thy goblet, or to bear 

Thy message light to lighter fair. 

Thou art a patron all too wild 

And thoughtless for this orphan child. 

See'st thou not how apart he steals. 

Keeps lonely couch and lonely meals ? 

Fitter by far in yon calm cell 

To tend our sister Isabel, 

With Father Augustine to share 

The peaceful change of convent prayer. 

Than wander wild adventures through 

With such a reckless guide as you,"- 



274 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



" Thanks, brother ! " Edward answered 

gay, . 
" For the high laud thy words convey ! 
But we may learn some future day 
If thou or I can this poor boy 
Protect the best, or best employ. 
Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ; 
Launch we the boat, and seek the 

land." 



To land King Robert lightly sprung, 
And thrice aloud his bugle rung 
With note prolonged and varied strain. 
Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. 
Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, 
Had in a glen a hart at bay. 
And Lennox cheered the laggard 

hounds, 
When waked that horn the greenwood 

bounds. 
" It is the foe ! " cried Boyd, who came 
In breathless haste with eye of flame, — 
" It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord 
Fling by his bow and grasp his 

sword ! " — 
" Not so, ' ' replied the good Lord James, 
" That blast no English bugle claims. 
Oft have I heard it fire the fight. 
Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 
Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear. 
If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear ! 
Each to Loch Rauza's margin spring ; 
That blast was winded by the King ! '* 



Fast to their mates the tidings spread. 
And fast to shore the warriors sped- 
Bursting from glen and greenwood tree. 
High waked their loyal jubilee ! 
Around the royal Bruce they crowd, 
And clasped his hands, and wept aloud. 
Veterans of early fields were there. 
Whose helmets pressed their hoary hair. 
Whose swords and axes bore a stain 
From life-blood of the red-haired Dane ; 
And boys, whose hands scarce brooked 

to wield 
The heavy sword or bossy shield. 
Men too were there, that bore the scars 
Impressed in Albyn's woful wars. 
At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight, 
Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven's 

flight : 



The might of Douglas there was seen, 
There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 
Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded 

Knight ; 
The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light ; 
The Heir of murdered De la Haye, 
And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. 
Around their King regained they 

pressed. 
Wept, shouted, clasped him to their 

breast. 
And young and old, and serf and lord. 
And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword. 
And he in many a peril tried. 
Alike resolved the brunt to bide. 
And live or die by Brace's side 1 



O War ! thou hast thy fierce delight. 
Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright ! 
Such gleams as from thy polished shield 
Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! 
Such transports wake, severe and high, 
Amid the v.ealing conquest cry ; 
Scarce less, when, after battle lost. 
Muster the remnants of a host. 
And as each comrade's name they tell. 
Who in the well-fouglit conflict fell. 
Knitting stem brow o'er flashing eye. 
Vow to avenge them or to die ! — 
Warriors ! — and where are warriors 

found, 
If not on martial Fritain's ground ? 
And who, when waked with note of fire, 
Lovemorethan they the British lyre? — 
Know ye not, — hearts to honor dear ! 
That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe. 
At which the heart-strings vibrate high. 
And wake the fountains of the eye i 
And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace 
Of tear is on his manly face. 
When, scanty relics of the train 
That hailed at Scone his early reign, 
This patriot band around him hung. 
And to his knees and bosom clung? — 
Blame ye the Bruce? — His brother 

blamed. 
But shared the weakness, while ashamed. 
With haughty laugh his head he turned. 
And dashed away the tear he seined. 

XXI. 

'T is morning, and the Convent bell 
Long time had ceased its matin knell. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



275 



Within thy walls, Saint Bride ! 
An aged Sister sought the cell 
Assigned to Lady Isabel, 

And hurriedly she cried, 
"Haste, gentle Lady, haste! — there 

waits 
A noble stranger at the gates ; 
Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has 

seen 
A Knight of such a princely mien ; 
His errand, as he bade me tell, 
Is with the Lady Isabel." 
The Princess rose, — for on her knee 
Low bent she told her rosary, — 
" Let him by thee his purpose teach : 
I may not give a stranger speech." — 
"Saint Bride forefend, thou royal 

Maid ! " 
The portress crossed herself, and said, — 
" Not to be Prioress might I 
Debate his will, his .suit deny." — 
" Has earthly show, then, simple fool, 
Power o'er a sister of thy rule ? 
And art thou, like the worldly train, 
Subdued by splendors light and vain ? " 



" No, Lady ! in old eyes like mine, 
Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine ; 
Nor grace his rank attendants vain, 
One youthful page is all his train. 
It is the form, the eye, the word, 
1'he bearing of that stranger Lord ; 
His stature, manly, bold, and tall, 
Built like a castle's battled wall. 
Yet moulded in such just degrees. 
His giant strength seems lightsome 

ease. 
Close as the tendrils of the vine 
His locks upon his forehead twine. 
Jet-black, save where some touch of gray 
Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 
Weather and war their rougher trace 
Have left on that majestic face ; — 
But 't is his dignity of eye ! 
There, if a suppliant, would I fly. 
Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief, 
Of sympathy, redress, relief, — 
That glance, if guilty, would I dread 
More than the doom that spoke me 

dead ! " — 
" Enough, enough," the Princess cried, 
'"T is Scotland's hope, her joy, her 

pride ! 



To meaner front was ne'er assigned 
Such mastery o'er the connnon mind, — 
Bestowed thy high designs to aid. 
How long, O Heaven ! how long de- 
layed ! — 
Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 
My darling brother, royal Bruce ! ' 



They met like friends who part in pain. 
And meet in doubtful hope again. 
But when subdued that fitful swell. 
The Bruce surveyed the humble cell ; — 
" And this is thine, poor Isabel ! — 
That pallet-couch and naked wall. 
For room of state, and bed of pall ; 
For costly robes and jewels rare, 
A string of beads and zone of hair ; 
And for the trumpet's sprightly call 
To sport or banquet, grove or hall. 
The bell's grim voice divides thy care 
'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer! — 
O, ill for thee, my royal claim 
From the First David's sainted name ! 
O, woe for thee, that, while he sought 
His right, thy brother feebly fought ! " — 



" Now lay these vain regrets aside. 
And be the unshaken Bruce ! " she 

cried. 
" For more I glory to have shared 
The woes thy venturous spirit dared, 
When raising first thy valiant band 
In rescue of thy native land. 
Than had fair Fortune set me down 
The partner of an empire's crown: 
Andgrievenotthat on Pleasure'sstream 
No more I drive in giddy dream. 
For Heaven the erring pilot knew. 
And from the gulf the vessel drew. 
Tried me with judgments stern and 

great. 
My house's ruin, thy defeat. 
Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, I own. 
My hopes are fixed on Heaven alone ; 
Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win 
My heart to this vain world of sin." — 



" Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice. 
First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice ; 
Then ponder if in convent scene 
No softer thoughts might intervene, — 



276 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Say they were of that unknown Knight, 
Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight, — 
Nay, if his name such blusli you owe, 
Victorious o'er a fairer foe ! " 
Truly his penetrating eye 
H ath caught that blush's passing dye, — 
Like the last beam of evening thrown 
On a white cloud, — just seen and gone. 
Soon with calm cheek and steady eye 
The Princess made composed reply : — 
" I guess my brother's meaning well ; 
For not so silent is the cell. 
But we have heard the islesmen all 
Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call. 
And mme eye proves that Knight un- 
known 
And the brave Island Lord are one. — 
Had then his suit been earlier made, 
In his own name, with thee to aid, 
(But that his plighted faith forbade,) 
I know not .... But thy page so near.-" — 
This is no tale for menial's ear." 



Still stood that page as far apart 

As the small cell would space afford ; 
With dizzy eye and bursting heart 

He leant his weight on Bruce's sword; 
The Monarch's mantle too he bore, 
And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
"Fear not for him, — in murderous 

strife," 
Said Bruce, "his warning saved my life ; 
Full seldom parts he from my side. 
And in his silence I confide. 
Since he can tell no tale again. 
He is a boy of gentle strain. 
And I have purposed he shall dwell 
In Augustine the chaplain's cell. 
And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 
Mind nothistears; I 've seen them flow. 
As in the thaw dissolves the snow. 
'T is a kind youth, but fanciful. 
Unfit against the tide to pull. 
And those that with the Bruce would 

sail 
Must learn to strive with stream and 

gale. 
But forward, gentle Isabel, — 
My answer for Lord Ronald tell." — 



" This answer be to Ronald given, — 
The heart he asks is fixed on heaven. 



I My love was like a summer flower, 
That withered in the wintry hour. 
Born but of vanity and pride. 
And with these sunny visions died. 
If further press his suit, — then say, 
He should his plighted troth obey. 
Troth plighted both with ringand'word. 
And sworn on crucifix and sword. — 
O, shame thee, Robert ! I have seen 
Thou hast a woman's guardian been I 
Even in extremity's dread hour. 
When pressed on ihee the Southern 

power, 
And safety, to all human sight. 
Was only found in rapid flight, 
Thou heard'st a wretched female plain 
In agony of travail-pain. 
And thou didst bid thy little band 
Upon the instant turn and stand. 
And dare the worst the foe might do, 
Rather than, like a knight untrue. 
Leave to pursuers merciless 
A woman in her last distress. — 
And wilt thou now deny thine aid 
To an oppressed and injured maid. 
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy. 
And press his fickle faith on me? — 
So witness Heaven, as true I vow, 
Had I those earthly feelings now, 
Which could my former bosom move 
Ere taught to set its hopes above, 
I 'd spurn each proffer he could bring. 
Till at my feet he laid the ring, 
The ring and spousal contract both, 
And fair acquittal of his oath. 
By her who brooks his perjured scorn. 
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn ! " 



With sudden impulse forward sprung 
The page, and on her neck he hung ; 
Then, recollected instantly. 
His head he stooped, and bent his knee. 
Kissed twice the hand of Isabel, 
Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
The Princess loosened from his hold, 
Blushed angry at his bearing bold ; 

But good King Robert cried, 
" Chafe not, — by signs he speaks his 

mind. 
He heard the plan my care designed, 

Nor could his transports hide. — 
But, sister, now bethink thee well ; 
No easy choice the convent cell ; 



THE LORD OE THE ISLES. 



277 



Trust, I shall p\ay no tyrant part, 
Either to force thy hand or heart, 
Or' suffer that Lord Ronald scorn, 
Or wrong for thee the Maid of Lorn. 
But think, — not long the time has been 
'I'hat thou wert wont to sigh unseen, 
And wouldst the ditties best approve 
That told some lay of hapless love. 
Now are thy wishes in thy power. 
And thou art bent on cloister bower 1 
O, if our Edward knew the change, 
How would his busy satire range. 
With many a sarcasm varied still 
On woman's wish and woman's 
will!" — 



" Brother, I well believe," she said, 
" Even so would Edward's part be 

played. 
Kindly in heart, in word severe, 
A foe to thought, and grief, and fear. 
He holds his humor uncontrolled ; 
But thou art of another mould. 
Say then to Ronald, as I say. 
Unless before my feet he lay 
The ring which bound the faith he 

swore. 
By Edith freely yielded o'er, 
He moves his suit to me no more. 
Nor do I promise, even if now 
He stood absolved of spousal vow. 
That I would change my purpose made, 
To shelter me in holy shade. — 
Brother, for little space, farewell/! 
To otl^er duties warns the bell." — 



" Lost to the world," King Robert 

said. 
When he had left the royal maid, 
" Lost to the world by lot severe, 
O what a gem lies buried here. 
Nipped by misfortune's cruel frost, 
The buds of fair affection lost ! — 
But what have I with love to do ? 
Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 

— Pent in this isle we may not lie. 
Nor would it long our wants supply. 
Right opposite, the main-land towers 
Of my own Turnberry court our pow- 
ers — 

Might not my father's beadsman hoar, 
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore, 
Kindle a signal-flame, to show 
The time propitious for the blow? 
It shall be so, — some friend shall bear 
Our mandate with despatch and care ; 

— Edward shall find the messenger. 
That fortress ours, the island fleet 
May on the coast of Carrick meet. — 
O Scotland ! shall it e'er be mine 
To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line, 
To raise my victor head, and see 

Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free, — 
That glance of bliss is all I crave 
Betwixt my labors and my grave ! " 
Then down the hill he slowly went, 
Oft pausing on the steep descent. 
And reached the spot where his boli 

train 
Held rustic camp upon the plain. 



CANTO FIFTH. 



On fair Loch Ranza streamed the early day, 
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curled 
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
And circling mountains sever from the world. 
And there the fisherman his sail unfurled. 
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirled. 
Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil, — 
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and coil. 

But other duties called each convent maid. 
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell ; 
Sung were the matins, and the mass was said. 
And every sister sought her separate cell. 



278 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. 
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer; 
The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair. 
As stooped her gentle head in meek devotion there. 



She raised her eyes, that duty done. 
When glanced upon the pavement- 
stone, 
Gemmed and enchased, a golden ring, 
Bound to a scroll with silken string. 
With few brief words inscribed to tell, 
"This for the Lady Isabel." 
Within, the writing further bore, — 
" 'T was with this ring his plight he 

swore. 
With this his promise I restore ; 
To her who can the heart command, 
Well may I yield the plighted hand. 
And O, for better lortune born, 
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
Her who was Edith once of Lorn ! " 
One single flash of glad surprise 
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes. 
But vanished in the blush of shame, 
That, as its penance, instant came. 
"O thought unworthy of my race 1 
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
A moment's throb of joy to own. 
That rose upon her hopes o'er- 

thrown ! — 
Thou pledge of vows too well believed, 
Of man ingrate and maid deceived, 
Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
Another heart to hope in vain ! 
Forthou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, 
Where worldly thoughts are overawed, 
And worldly splendors sink debased." 
Then by the cross the ring she placed. 



Next rose the thought, — its owner far. 
How came it here through bolt and 

bar? — 
But the dim lattice is ajar. — 
She looks abroad, — the morning dew 
A light short step had brushed anew, 

And there were footprints seen 
On the carved buttress rising still, 
Till on the mossy window-sill 

Their track effaced the green. 
The ivy twigs were torn and frayed. 
As if some climber's steps to aid. — 



But who the hardy messenger, 
Whose venturous path these signs in- 
fer ? — 
" Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, 

draw nigh ; 
— Naught 'scapes old Mona's curious 

eye — 
What strangers, gentle mother, say, 
Have sought these holy walls to-day ? " 
" None, Lady, none of note or name ; 
Only your brother's foot- page came. 
At peep of dawn, — I prayed him pass 
To chapel where they said the mass ; 
But like an arrow he shot by, 
And tears seemed bursting from his 
eye." 



The truth at once on Isabel, 

As darted by a sunbeam, fell : 

" 'T is Edith's self! — her speechless 

woe. 
Her form, her looks, the secret show ! 
— Instant, good Mona, to the bay, 
And to my royal brother say, 
I do conjure him seek my cell, 
With that mute page he loves so 

well."— 
" What ! know'st thou not his warlike 

host 
At break of day has left our coast ? 
My old eyes saw them from the tower. 
At eve they couched in greenwood 

bower. 
At dawn a bugle signal, made 
By their bold Lord, their ranks arrayed ; 
Up sprung the spears through bush and 

tree, 
No time for benedicite I 
Like deer, that, rousing from their lair, 
Just shake the dewdrops from their 

hair. 
And toss their armed crest aloft. 
Such matins theirs!" — "Good mother, 

soft — 
Where does my brother bend his 

way ? " — 
" As I have heard, for Brodick Bay, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



279 



Across the isle, — of barks a score 
Lie there, 't is said, to waft them o'er. 
On sudden news, to Carrick shoie." — 
" If such their purpose, deep the need," 
Said anxious Isabel, " of speed ! 
Call Father Augustine, good dame." — 
The nun obeyed, the Father came. 



" Kind Father, hie without delay 
Across the hills to Brodick Bay. 
This message to the Bruce be given ; 
I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven, 
That, till he speak with me, he stay ! 
Or, if his haste brook no delay. 
That he deliver, on my suit. 
Into thy charge that stripling mute. 
Thus prays his sister Isabel, 
For causes more than she may tell. — 
Away, good Father ! and take heed. 
That life and death are on thy speed." 
His cowl the good old priest did on. 
Took his piked staff and sandaled shoon, 
And, like a palmer bent by eld. 
O'er moss and moor his journey held. 



Heavy and dull the foot of age. 
And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 
But none were there beside, whose care 
Might such important message bear. 
Through birchen copse he wandered 

slow, 
Stunted and sapless, thin and low ; 
By many a mountain stream he passed. 
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 
Dashing to foam their waters dun, 
And sparkling in the summer sun. 
Round his gray head the wild curlew 
In many a fearless circle flew. 
O'er chasms he passed, where fractures 

wide 
Craved wary eye and ample stride ; 
He crossed his brow beside the stone. 
Where Druids erst heard victims groan, 
And at the cairns upon the wild, 
O'er many a heathen hero piled. 
He breathed a timid prayer for those 
Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he stayed, 
There told his hours within the shade, 
And at the stream his thirst allayed. 
Thence onward journeying slowly still. 
As evening closed he reached the hill, 



Where, rising through the woodland 

green, 
Old Brodick's Gothic towers were seen, 
From Hastings, late their English lord, 
Douglas had won them by the sword. 
The sun that sunk behind the isle 
Now tinged them with a parting smile. 



But though the beams of light decay, 
'T was bustle all in Brodick Bay. 
The Bruce's followers crowd the shore, 
And boats and barges some unmoor. 
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar ; 
Their eyes oft turned where glimmered 

far 
What might have seemed an early star 
On heaven's blue arch, save that its 

light 
Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 
Far distant in the south, the ray 
Shone pale amid retiring day. 

But as, on Carrick shore. 
Dim seen in outline faintly blue. 
The shades of evening closer drew, 
It kindled more and more. 
The Monk's slow steps now press the 

sands, 
And now amid a scene he stands, 

Full strange to churchman's eye ; 
Warriors, who, arming for the fight. 
Rivet and clasp their harness light. 
And twinkling spears, and axes bright, 
And helmets, flashing high. 
Oft, too, with unaccustomed ears, 
A language much unmeet he hears, 

While, hastening all on board. 
As stormy as the swelling surge 
That mixed its roar, the leaders urge 
Their followers to the ocean verge, 
With many a haughty word. 



Through that wild throng the Father 

passed. 
And reached the royal Bruce at last. 
He leant against a stranded boat. 
That the approaching tide must float. 
And counted every rippling wave. 
As higher yet her sides they lave. 
And oft the distant fire he eyed. 
And closer yet his hauberk tied. 
And loosened in his sheath his brand, 
Edward and Lennox were at hand. 



28o 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Douglas and Ronald had the care 
The soldiers to the barks to share. — 
The Monk approached and homage 

paid ; 
"And art thou come," KingRobert said, 
" So far to bless us ere we part ? " — 
" My Liege, and with a loyal heart ! — 
But other charge I have to tell," — 
And spoke the hest of Isabel. 
— " Now by Saint Giles," the Monarch 

cried, 
" This moves me much ! — this morn- 
ing tide, 
I sent the stripling to Saint Bride, 
With my commandment there to bide." 
— " Thither he came the portress 

showed. 
But there, my Liege, made brief 
abode." — 

IX. 

" 'T was I," said Edward, " found em- 
ploy 
Of nobler import for the boy. 
Deep pondering in my anxious mind, 
A fitting messenger to find. 
To bear thy written mandate o'er 
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, 
I chanced at early dawn to pass 
The chapel gate to snatch a mass. 
I found the stripling on a tomb 
Low-seated, weeping for the doom 
That gave his youth to convent gloom. 
I told my purpose, and his eyes 
Flashed joyful at the glad surprise. 
He bounded to the skiff, the sail 
Was spread before a prosperous gale, 
And well my charge he hath obeyed ; 
For, see ! the ruddy signal made. 
That Clifford, with his merry men all. 
Guards carelessly our father s hall." — 

X. 

" O wild of thought, and hard of heart ! " 
Answered the Monarch, "on a part 
Of such deep danger to employ 
A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! 
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife. 
Without a tongue to plead for life ! 
Now, were my right restored by Heaven, 
Edward, my crown I would have given. 
Ere, thrust on such adventure wild, 
I perilled thus the helpless child." — 
Oft'ended half, and half submiss, — 
*' Broiherand Liege, of blame like this," 



Edward replied, " I little dreamed. 
A stranger messenger, I deemed, 
Might safest seek the beadsman's cell, 
Where all thy squires are known so well. 
Noteless his presence, sharp his sense. 
His imperfection his defence. 
If seen, none can his errand guess ; 
If ta'en, his words no tale express. — 
Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 
Might expiate greater fault than 

mine." — 
" Rash," said King Robert, " was the 

deed — 
But it is done. Embark with speed ! -^ 
Good Father, say to Isabel 
How this unhappy chance befell ; 
If well we thrive on yonder shore. 
Soon shall my care her page restore. 
Our greeting to our sister bear. 
And think of us in mass and prayer." 



" Aye ! " — said the Priest, " while this 

poor hand 
Can chalice raise or cross command. 
While my old voice has accents' use, 
Can Augustine forget the Bruce ! " 
Then to his side Lord Ronald pressed. 
And whispered, " Bear thou this re- 
quest. 
That when by Bruce's side I fight. 
For Scotland's crown and Freedom's 

right, 
The Princess grace her knight to bear 
Some token of her favoring care ; 
It shall be shown where England's best 
May shrink to see it on my crest. 
And for the boy, — since weightier care 
For royal Bruce the times prepare. 
The helpless youth is Ronald's charge. 
His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." 
He ceased ; for many an eager hand 
Had urged the barges from the strand. 
Their number was a score and ten. 
They bore thrice threescore chosen men. 
With such small force did Bruce at last 
The die for death or empire cast I 



Now on the darkening main afloat. 
Ready and manned rocks every boat ; 
Beneath their oars the ocean's might 
Was dashed to sparks of glimmering 
light 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



281 



?-aint and more faint, as off they bore, 
Their armor glanced against the shore. 
And, mingled wilh the dashing tide, 
Their murmuring voices distant died. — 
" God speed them ! " said the Priest, 

as dark 
On distant billows glides each bark ; 
" O Heaven ! when swords for freedom 

shine. 
And monarch's right, the cause is thine ! 
Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 
Beat down the banners of the foe ! 
And be it to the nations known, 
That Victory is from God alone ! " 
As up the hill his path he drew. 
He turned, his blessings to renew. 
Oft turned, till on the darkened coast 
All traces of their course were lost ; 
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower, 
To shelter for the evening hour. 



In night the fairy prospects sink. 
Where Cumray's isles with verdant link 
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 
The woods of Bute, no more descried. 
Are gone, — and on the placid sea 
The rowers ply their task with glee. 
While hands that knightly lances bore 
Impatient aid the laboring oar. 
The half-faced moon shone dim and 

pale. 
And glanced against the whitened sail ; 
But on that ruddy beacon -light 
Each steersman kept the helm aright, 
And oft, for such the King's command, 
That all at once might reach the strand, 
From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
Warned them to crowd or slacken sail. 
South and by west the armada bore. 
And near at length the Carrick shore. 
As less and less the distance grows, 
High and more high the beacon rose ; 
The light, that seemed a twinkling star, 
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 
Dark red the heaven above it glowed, 
Dark red the sea beneath it flowed. 
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim. 
In blood-red light her islets swim ; 
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave. 
Dropped from their crags on plashing 

wave. 
The deer to distant covert drew. 
The black-cock deemed it day, and crew. 



Like some tall castle given to flame 

O'er half the land the lustre came. 

" Now, good my Liege, and brother 

sage. 
What think ye of mine elfin page?" — 
" Row on ! " the noble King replied, 
" We '11 learn the truth, whate'er betide ; 
Yet sure the beadsman and the child 
Could ne'er have waked that beacon 

wild." 



With that the boats approached the land. 
But Edward's grounded on the sand ; 
The eager Kni.e;ht leaped in the sea 
Waist-deep, and first on shore was he, 
Though every barge's hardy band 
Contended which should gain the land, 
When that strange light, which, seen 

afar, 
Seemed steady as the polar star, 
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair. 
Seemed travelling the realms of air. 
Wide o'er the sky the splendor glows, 
As that portentous meteor rose : 
Helrn, axe, and falchion glittered bright. 
And in the red and dusky light 
His comrade's face each warrior saw, 
Nor marvelled it was pale with awe. 
Then high in air the beams were lost, 
And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 
Ronald to Heaven a prayer addressed, 
And Douglas crossed his dauntless 

breast ; 
" Saint James protect us ! " Lennox 

cried, 
But reckless Edward spoke aside, 
" Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that 

flame 
Red Comyn's angry spirit came. 
Or would thy dauntless heart endure 
Once more to make assurance sure ? " — 
" Hush ! " said the Bruce ; " we soon 

shall know, 
If this be sorcerer's empty show. 
Or stratagem of southern foe. 
The moon shines out, — upon the sand 
Let every leader rank his band." 



Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
That ruddy light's unnatural dye ; 
The dubious cold reflection lay 
On the wet sands and quiet bay. 



252 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Beneath the rocks King Robert drew 
His scattered files to order due, 
Till shield compact and serried spear 
In the cool light shone blue and clear. 
Then down a path that sought the tide, 
That speechless page was seen to glide ; 
He knelt him lowly on the sand, 
And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 
" A torch," the Monarch cried, " what, 

ho! 
Nowshall we Cuthbert's tidings know." 
But evil news the letters bear, 
The Clifford's force was strong and ware, 
Augmented, too, that very morn. 
By mountaineers who came with Lorn. 
Long harrowed by oppressor's hand, 
Courage and faith had fled the land, 
And over Carrlck, dark and deep, 
Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 
Cuthbert had seen that beacon flame, 
Unwitting from what source it came. 
Doubtful of perilous event, 
Edward's mute messenger he sent. 
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 
To warn him from the fatal shore. 



As round the torch the leaders crowd, 
Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 
"Whatcounsel,nobles, have wenow? — 
To ambush us in greenwood bough. 
And take the chance which fate may 

send 
To bring our enterprise to end ? 
Or shall we turn us to to the main 
As exiles, and embark again ? " — 
Answered fierce Edward, " Hap what 

may ; 
In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay. 
I would not minstrels told the tale. 
Wildfire or meteor made us quail." 
Answered the Douglas, — "If my Liege 
May win yon walls by storm or siege. 
Then were each brave and patriot heart 
Kindled of new for loyal part." — 
Answered Lord Ronald, " Not for 

shame 
Would I that aged Torquil came. 
And found, for all our empty boast, 
Without a blow we fled the coast. 
I will not credit that this land. 
So famed for warlike heart and hand, 
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 
Will long with tyrants hold a truce." — 



" Prove we our fate, — the brunt we '11 

bide ! " 
So Boyd and Have and Lennox cried ; 
So said, so vowed, the leaders all ; 
So Bruce resolved : " And in my hall 
Since the Bold Southern make their 

home, 
The hour of payment soon shall come, 
When with a rough and rugged host 
Clifford may reckon to his cost. 
Meantime, through well-known bosk 

and dell, 
I '11 lead where we may shelter well." 



Now ask you whence that wondrous 

light. 
Whose fairy glow beguiledtheir sight ? — 
It ne'er was known, — yet gray-haired 

eld 
A superstitious credence held, 
That never did a mortal hand 
Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 
Nay, and that on the selfsame night 
When Bruce crossed o'er, still gleams 

the light. 
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor. 
And glittering wave and crimsoned 

shore, — 
But whether beam celestial, lent 
By Heaven to aid the King's descent, 
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath, 
To lure him to defeat and death. 
Or were it but some meteor strange. 
Of such as oft through midnight range. 
Startling the traveller late and lone, 
I know not, — and it ne'er was known. 



Now up the rocky pass they drew, — 
And Ronald, to his promise true. 
Still made his arm the stripling's stay, 
To aid him on the rugged way. 
" Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! 
Why throbs that silly heart ofthine? " — 
— That name the pirates to their slave 
(In Gaelic 't is the Changeling) gave, — 
" Dost thou not rest thee on my arm ? 
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm? 
Hath not the wild bull's treble hide 
This targe for thee and me supplied ? 
Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel? 
And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



283 



Cheer thee, and still that throbbing 

heart ; 
From Ronald's guard thou shalt not 

part." 
— O, many a shaft, at random sent, 
Finds mark the archer little meant ! 
And many a word, at random spoken, 
May soothe or wound a heart that 's 

broken ! 
Half soothed, half grieved, half terri- 
fied. 
Close drew the page to Ronald's side ; 
A wild, delirious thrill of joy 
Was in that hour of agony, 
As up the steepy pass he strove. 
Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love ! 



The barrier of that iron shore, 

The rock's steep ledge, is now climbed 

o'er ; 
And from the castle's distant wall. 
From tower to tower the warders call : 
The sound swings over land and sea. 
And marks a watchful enemy. — 
They gained the Chase, a wide do- 
main 
Left for the castle's sylvan reign, 
(Seek not the scene, — the axe, the 

plough, 
The boor's dull fence, have marred it 

now,) 
But then, soft swept in velvet green 
The plain with many a glade between. 
Whose tangled alleys far invade 
The depth of the brown forest shade. 
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn, 
Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
There, tufted close with copsewood 

green. 
Was many a swelling hillock seen ; 
And all around was verdure meet 
For pressure of the fairies' feet. 
The glossy holly loved the park. 
The yew-tree lent its shadow dark. 
And many an old oak, worn and bare, 
With all its shivered boughs, was there. 
Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. 
The gallant Monarch sighed to see 
These glades so loved in childhood 

free. 
Bethinking that, as outlaw now, 
He ranged beneath the forest bough. 



Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they 

sped. 
Well knew the band that measured 

tread. 
When, in retreat or in advance. 
The serried warriors move at once ; 
And evil were the luck, if dawn 
Descried them on the open lawn. 
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross, 
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss. 
Froi;n the exhausted page's brow 
Cold drops of toil are streaming now ; 
With effort faint and lengthened pause. 
His weary step the stripling draws. 
" Nay, droop not yet ! " the warrior 

said ; 
" Come, let me give thee ease and aid ! 
Strong are mine arms, and little care 
A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 
What ! wilt thou not ? — capricious 

boy ! — 
Then thine own limbs and strength 

employ. 
Pass but this night, and pass thy care, 
I '11 place thee with a lady fair. 
Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell 
How Ronald loves fair Isabel ! " 
Worn out, disheartened, and dismayed, 
Here Amadine let go the plaid; 
His trembling limbs their aid refuse. 
He sunk among the midnight dews ! 

XXI. 

What may be done ? — the night is 

gone — 
The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 
Eternal shame, if at the brunt 
Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! — » 
" See yonder oak, within whose trunk 
Decay a darkened cell hath sunk ; 
Enter, and rest thee there a space, 
Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. 
I will not be, believe me, far ; 
But must not quit the ranks of war. 
Well will I mark the bosky bourne. 
And soon, to guard thee hence, return. 
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy ! 
But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." 
In sylvan lodging close bestowed. 
He placed the page, and onward strode 
With strength put forth, o'er moss and 

brook, 
And soon the marching band o'ertook. 



284 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Thus strangely left, long sobbed and 

wept 
The page, till, wearied out, he slept, — 
A rough voice waked his dream, — 

" Nay, here. 
Here by this thicket, passed the deer, — 
Beneath that oak old Ryno stayed, — 
What have we here? — A Scottish 

plaid, 
And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 
Come forth ! thy name and business 

tell! 
What, silent ? — then I guess thee well, 
The spy that sought old Cujhbert's cell, 
Wafted from Arran yester morn — 
Come, comrades, we will straight re- 
turn. 
Our Lord may choose the rack should 

teach 
To this young lurcher use of speech. 
Thy bowstring, till I bind him fast." — 
" Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ; 
Unbound we' 11 lead him, fear it not ; 
'T is a fair stripling, though a Scot." 
The hunters to the castle sped. 
And there the hapless captive led. 



Stout Clifford in the castle court 
Prepared him for the morning sport ; 
And now with Lorn held deep discourse. 
Now gave command for hound, and 

horse. 
War-steeds and palfreys pawed the 

ground. 
And many a deer-dog howled around. 
To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word 
Replying to that Southern Lord, 
Mixed with this clanging din, might 

seem 
The phantasm of a fevered dream. 
The tone upon his ringing ears 
Came like the sounds which fancy hears, 
When in rude waves or roaring winds 
Some words of woe the muser finds, 
Until more loudly and more near. 
Their speech arrests the page's ear. 



" And was she thus," said Clifford, 

"lost? 
'r.Ae priest should rue it to his cost ! 



What says the Monk? " — " The holy 

Sire 
Owns, that in masker's quaint attire 
She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown 
To all except to him alone. 
But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn 
Laid them aboard that very morn. 
And pirates seized her for their prey. 
He proffered ransom gold to pav. 
And they agreed, — but ere told o'er, 
The winds blow loud, the billows roar; 
They severed, and they met no more. 
He deems — such tempests vexed the 

coast — 
Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 
So let it be, with the disgrace 
And scandal of her lofty race ! 
Thrice better she had ne'er been born. 
Than brought her infamy on Lorn ! " 

XXV. 

Lord Clifford now the captive spied ; — 
"Whom, Herbert, hast thou there?" 

he cried. 
" A spy we seized within the Chase, 
A hollow oak his lurking-place." — 
"What tidings can the youth afford ? " — 
" He plays the mute." — "Then noose 

a cord — 
Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 
For his plaid's sake." — " Clan-CoUa's 

loom," 
Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 
Rather the vesture than the face, 
" Clan-Colla's dames such tartans 

twine ; 
Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 
Give him, if my advice you crave, 
His own scathed oak ; and let him wave 
In air, unless, by terror wrung, 
A frank confession find his tongue. — 
Nor shall he die without his rite ; 
— Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, 
And give Clan-CoIla's dirge thy breath, 
As they convey him to his death." — 
" O brother ! cruel to the last 1 " 
Through the poor captive's bosom 

passed 
The thought, but, to his purpose true. 
He said not, though he sighed, 

" Adieu ! " 

XXVI. 

And will he keep his purpose stilly 
In sight of that last closing ill. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



28s 



When one poor breath, one single word, 
May freedom, safety, life afford ? 
Can he resist the instinctive call, 
For life that bids us barter all ? — 
Love, strong as death, his heart hath 

steeled, 
His nerves hath strung, — he will not 

yield ! 
Since that poor breath, that little word. 
May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — 
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide. 
The griesly headsman 's by his side ; 
Along the greenwood Chase they bend. 
And now their march has ghastly end ! 
That old and shattered oak beneath. 
They destine for the place of death. — 
What thoughts are his, while all in vain 
His eye for aid explores the plain? 
What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear, 
He hears the death -prayer muttered 

near? 
And must he die such death accurst, 
Or will that bosom-secret burst? 
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew, 
His trembling lips are livid blue ; 
The agony of parting life 
Has naught to match that moment's 

strife ! 



But other witnesses are nigh. 

Who mock at fear, and death defy ! 

Soon as the dire lament was played, 

It waked the lurking ambuscade. 

The Island Lord looked forth, and spied 

The cause, and loud in fury cried, — 

" By Heaven, they lead the page to die, 

And mock me in his agony ! 

They shall abye it ! " — On his arm 

Bruce laid strong grasp, " They shall 

not harm 
A. ringlet of the stripling's hair ; 
But, till I give the word, forbear. 

— Douglas, lead fifty of our force 
(Jp yonder hollow watercourse, 

And couch thee midway on the wold, 
Between the flyers and their hold ; 
A spear above the copse displayed 
Be signal of the ambush made. 

— Edward, with forty spearmen straight 
Through yonder copse approach the 

gate. 
And, when thou hear'st the battle-din. 
Rush forward, and the passage win, 



Secure the drawbridge, ~ storm the 

port. 
And man and guard the castle court. — 
The rest move slowly forth with me. 
In shelter of the forest-tree. 
Till Douglas at his post I see." 



Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
Compelled to wait the signal blown, 
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood 

bough. 
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald 

now, 
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. — 
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye. 
Sees the dark death-train moving by, 
And heedful measures oft the space 
The Douglas and his band must trace. 
Ere they can reach their destinedground. 
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound. 
Now cluster round the direful tree 
That slow and solemn company. 
While hymn mistuned and muttered 

prayer 
The victim for his fate prepare. — 
Whatglances o'er the greenwood shade? 
The spearthatmarksthe ambuscade! — 
" Now, noble Chief! I leave thee loose ; 
Upon them, Ronald ! " said the Bruce. 



" The Bruce ! the Bruce ! " to well- 
known cry 
His native rocks and woods reply. 
" The Bruce ! the Bruce ! " in that 

dread word 
The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 
The astonished Southern gazed at first. 
Where the wild tempest was to burst. 
That waked in that presaging name. 
Before, behind, around it came ! 
Half-armed, surprised, on every side 
Hemmed in, hewed down, they bled 

and died. 
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged. 
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword 

raged ! 
Full soon the few who fought were sped, 
Nor better was their lot who fled. 
And met, mid terror's wild career. 
The Douglas's redoubted spear 1 



286 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Two hundred yeomen on that mom 
The castle left, and none return. 



Not on their flight pressed Ronald's 

brand, 
A gentler duty claimed his hand. 
He raised the page, where on the plain 
His fear had sunk him with the slain : 
And twice, that morn, surprise well near 
Betrayed the secret kept by fear ; 
Once when, with life returning, came 
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name, 
And hardly recollection drowned 
The accents in a murmuring sound ; 
And once when scarce he could resist 
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest 
Drawn tightly o'er his laboring breast. 
But then the Bruce's bugle blew, 
For martial work was yet to do. 



A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
Ere signal given, the castle gates 

His fury had assailed ; 
Such was his wonted reckless mood. 
Yet desperate valor oft made good. 
Even by its daring, venture rude, 

Where prudence might have failed. 
Upon the bridge his strength he threw, 
And struck the iron chain in two. 

By which its planks arose ; 
The warder next his axe's edge 
Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge ! 

The gate they may not close. 
Well fought the Southern in the fray, 
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day. 
But stubborn Edward forced his way 

Against a hundred foes. 
Loud came the cry, " The Bruce ! the 

Bruce ! " 
No hope or in defence or truce, — 

Fresh combatants pour in ; 
Mad with success, and drunk with gore. 
They drive the struggling foe before. 

And ward on ward they win. 
Unsparing was the vengeful sword. 
And limbs were lopped, and hfe-blood 

poured. 
The cry of death and conflict roared, 

And fearful was the din ! 
The startling horses plunged and flung, 
Clamored the dogs till turrets rung, 



Nor sunk the fearful cr^'. 
Till not a foeman was there found 
Alive, save those who on the ground 

Groaned in their agony ! 



The valiant Clifford is no more ; 

On Ronald's broadsword streamed hrs 

gore. 
But better hap had he of Lorn, 
Who, by the foeman backward borne, 
Yet gained with slender train the port 
Where lay his bark beneath the fort, 

And cut the cable loose. 
Short were his shrift in that debate. 
That hour of fury and of fate, 

If Lorn encountered Bruce ! 
Then long and loud the victor shout 
From turret and from tower rung out, 

The rugged vaults replied ; 
And from the donjon tower on high 
The men of Carrick may descry 
Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry 

Of silver, waving wide ! 

xxxni. 
The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! 
— " Welcome, brave friends and com- 
rades all. 
Welcome to mirth and joy ! 
The first, the last, is welcome here, 
From lord and chieftain, prince and 
peer. 
To this poor speechless boy. 
Great God ! once more my sire's abode 
Is mine, — behold the floor I trode 

In tottering infancy ! 
And there the vaulted arch whose sound 
Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
In boyhood, and tliat rung around 

To youth's unthinking glee ! 
O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 
Then to my friends, my thanks be 

given ! " — 
He paused a space, his brow he 

crossed, — 
Then on the board his sword he tossed, 
Yet steaming hot ; with Southern gore 
From hilt to point 't was crimsoned o'er. 

XXXIV. 

"Bring here," he said, "the mazers 

four. 
My noble fathers loved of yore. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



287 



Thrice let them circle round the board, 
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights re- 
stored ! 
And he whose lip shall touch the wine, 
Without a vow as true as mine, 
To hold both lands and life at naught, 
Until her freedom shall be bought, — 
Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 
And lasting infamy his lot ! 
Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee 
Is brief, we '11 spend it joyously ! 
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams. 
When betwixt storm and storm he 
gleams. 



Well is our country's work b^un, 
But more, far more, must yet be done. 
Speed messsengers the country through; 
Arouse old friends, and gather new ; 
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their 
J mail, 

Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts, 
The fairest forms, the truest hearts ! 
Call all, call all ! from Reedswair Path 
To the wild confines of Cape Wrath ; 
Wide let the news through Scotland 

ring, — 
The Northern Eagle claps his wing ! " 



CANTTO SIXTH. 



O WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget 
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time. 
When breathless in the mart the couriers met, 
Early and late, at evening and at prime ; 
When the loud cannon and the merry chime 
Hailed news on news, as field on field was won, 
When Hope, long doubtful, soared at length sublime, 
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, 
Watched Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun 1 

O these were hours when thrilling joy repaid 
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears 1 
The heartsick faintness of the hope delayed. 
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears, 
That tracked with terror twenty rolling years, — 
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears, 
To sigh a thankful praver, amid the glee 
That hailed the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty ! 

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode. 
When 'gainst the invaders turned the battle's scale. 
When Bruce's banner had victorious flowed 
O'er Loudoun's mountain and in Ury's vale ; 
When Englisli blood oft deluged Douglas-dale, 
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John, 
When Randolph's war-cry swelled the southern ga^e, 
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won. 
And fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done. 

A vot'ress of the order now, 
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear 
Dim veil and woollen scapulare. 
And reft thy locks of dark brown hair. 

That stern and rigid vow. 
Did it condemn the transport high. 
Which glistened in thy watery eye. 



Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower, 
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower. 
And waked the solitary cell. 
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell 
Princess no more, fair Isabel, 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



When minstrel or when palmer told 
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold? — 
And whose the lovely form, that shares 
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy 

prayers? 
No sister she of convent shade ; | 
So say these locks in lengthened braia, 
So say the blushes and the sighs, 
The tremors that unbidden rise, 
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame. 
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came. 



Believe, his father's castle won, 
And his bold enterprise begun, 
I'hat Bruce's earliest cares restore 
The speechless page to Arran's shore : 
Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
Concealed her from a sister's eyes ; 
And sister-like in love they dwell 
In that lone convent's silent cell. 
There Bruce's slow assent allows 
Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
And there, her sex's dress regained. 
The lovely Maid of Lorn remained. 
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far 
Resounded with the din of war ; 
And many a month, and many a day. 
In calm seclusion wore away. 



These days, these months, to years had 

worn, 
When tidings of high weight were borne 

To that lone island's shore ; 
Of all the Scottish conquests made 
By the First Edward's ruthless blade. 

His son retained no more, 
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's 

towers. 
Beleaguered by King Robert's powers ; 

And they took term of truce, 
If England's King should not relieve 
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 

To yield them to the Bruce. 
England was roused, — on every side 
Courier and post and herald hied, 

To summcn prince and peer, 
At Berwick bounds to meet their Liege, 
Prej^ared to raise fair Stirling's siege. 

With buckler, brand, and spear. 
The term was nigh, — they mustered 

fast. 
By beacon and by bugle-blast 



Forth marshalled for the field ; 
There rode each knight of noble name, 
There England's hardy archers came, 
The land they trod seemed all on flame, 

With banner, blade, and shield ! 
And not famed England's powers alone, 
Renowned in arms, the summons own ; 

For Neustria's knights obeyed, 
Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good. 
And Cambria, but of late subd aed, 
Sent forth her mountain multitude, 
And Connogh poured from waste and 

wood 
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 

Dark Eth O'Connor swayed. 



Right to devoted Caledon 

The storm of war rolls slowly on. 

With menace deep and dread ; 
So the dark clouds, with gathering 

power. 
Suspend awhile the threatened shower, 
Till every peak and summit lower 

Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye 
King Robert marked the tempest nigh ! 

Resolved the brunt to bide, 
His royal summons warned the laf\d, 
That all who owned their King's com- 
mand 
Should instanttakethespearand brand. 

To combat at his side. 
O, who may tell the sons of fame. 
That at King Robert's bidding came. 

To battle for the right ! 
From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
FromSolway SandstoMarsha'.'s Moss, 

All bouned them for the tiglit. 
Such news the royal corrier 'e.ls. 
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ; 
But further tidings must the ear 
Of Isabel in secret hear. 
These in her cloister walk, next mom, 
Thus shared she with the Maid c\ 
Lorn : — 



" My Edith, can I tell how dear 
Our intercourse of hearts sincere 

Hath been to Isabel ? — 
Judge then the sorrow of my heart. 
When I must say the words. We part 1 

The cheerless convent cell 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



389 



Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 
Go thou where thy vocation free 

On happier fortunes fell. 
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betrayed, 
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high 

Maid 
And his poor silent Page were one. 
Versed in the fickle heart of man, 
Earnest and anxious hath he looked 
How Ronald's heart the message 

brooked 
That gave him, with her last farewell. 
The charge of Sister Isabel, 
To think upon thv better right. 
And keep the faith his promise plight. 
Forgive him for thy sister's sake. 
At first if vain repinings wake — 

Long since that mood is gone : 
Now dwells he on thy juster claims, 
And oft his breach of faith he blames — 

Forgive him for thine own \ ' — 



" No ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 

Will I again as paramour " — 

" Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid. 

Until my final tale be said ! — 

The good King Robert would engage 

Edith once more his elfin page, 

By her own heart and her own eye 

Her lover's penitence to try, — 

Safe in his royal charge, and free. 

Should such thy final purpose be, 

Again unknown to seek the cell. 

And live and die with Isabel." 

Thus spoke the maid, — King Robert's 

eye, 
Might have some glance of policy : 
Dunstaffnage had the Monarch ta'en. 
And Lorn had owned King Robert's 

reign ; 
Her brother had to England fled. 
And there in banishment was dead ; 
Ample, through exile, death, and flight. 
O'er tower and land was Edith's ri'^ht ; 
This ample right o'er tower and land 
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand. 



Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek 
Pleasure and shame and fear bespeak ! 
Yet much the reasoning Edith made : — 
" Her sister's faith she must upbraid, 
19 



Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 

In counsel to another's ear. 

Why should she leave the peaceful 

cell ? — 
How should she part with Isabel? — 
How wear that strange attire again? — 
How risk herself midst martial men ? 
And how be guarded on the way ? — • 
At least she might entreat delay." 
Kind Isabel, with secret smile. 
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile. 
Reluctant to be thought to move 
At the first call of truant love. 



O, blame her not ! — when zephyrs 

wake. 
The aspen's trembling leaves must 

shake ; 
When beams the sun through April's 

shower. 
It needs must bloom, the violet flower; 
And Love, hovve'er the maiden strive. 
Must with reviving hope revive ! 
A thousand soft excuses came 
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame. 
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth, 
He had her plighted faith and truth, — 
Then, 't was her Liege's strict com- 
mand. 
And she, beneath his royal hand, 
A ward in person and in land : — 
And, last, she was resolved to stay 
Only brief space, — one little day, — 
Close hidden in her safe disguise 
From all, but most from Ronald's 

eyes, — 
But once to see him more ! — nor blame 
Her wish, — to hear him name her 

name ! — 
Then to 'bear back to solitude 
The thought he had his falsehood rued ; 
But Isabel, who long had seen 
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien, 
And well herself the cause might know. 
Though innocent, of Edith's woe. 
Joyed, generous, that revolving time 
liave means to expiate the crime. 
High glowed her bosom as she said, 
"Well shall her sufferings be repaid ! " 
Now came the parting hour, — a band 
From Arran's mountains left the land; 
Their chief, Fitz- Louis, had the care 
The sp«echless Amadine to bear 



290 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



To Bruce, with honor, as behooved 
To page the monarch dearly loved. 



The Kinghad deemed the maiden bright 
Should reach him long before the fight, 
But storms and fate her course delay : 
It was on eve of battle-day, 
When o'er the Gillie's hill she rode. 
The landscape like a furnace glowed, 
And far as e'er the eye was borne. 
The lances waved like autumn corn. 
In battles four beneath their eye 
The forces of King Robert lie. 
And one below the hill was laid. 
Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
And three, advanced, formed vaward 

line 
'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's 

shrine. 
Detached was each, yet each so nigh 
As well might mutual aid supply. 
Beyond, the Southern host appears, 
A boundless wilderness of spears. 
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
Thick flashing in the evening beam, 
Glaives, lances, bills, and banners 

gleam ; 
And where the heaven joined with the 

hill, 
Was distant armor flashing still. 
So wide, so far, the boundless host 
Seemed in the blue horizon lost. 



Down from the hill the maiden passed. 
At the wild show of war aghast ; 
And traversed first the rearward host. 
Reserved for aid where needed most. 
The men of Carrick and of Ayr, 
Lennox and Lanark too, were there, 

And all the western land ; 
With these the valiant of the Isles 
Beneath their Chieftains ranked their 
files. 

In many a plaided band. 
There, in the centre, proudly raised, 
The Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
A galley driven by sail and oar. 
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed. 
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid 



By these Hebrideans worn ; 
But O, unseen for three long years, 
Dear was the garb of mountaineers 

To the fair Maid of Lorn ! 
For one she looked, — but he was far 
Busied amid the ranks of war, — 
Yet with affection's troubled eye 
She marked his banner boldly fly. 
Gave on the countless foe a glance, 
And thought on battle's desperate 
chance. 



To centre of the vaward-line 
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 
Armed all on foot, that host appears 
A serried mass of glimmering spears. 
There stood the Marchers' warlike 

band, 
The warriors there of Lodon's land ; 
Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 
A band of archers fierce, though few ; 
The men of Nith and Annan's vale. 
And the bold spears of Teviotdale ; — 
The dauntless Douglas these obey. 
And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 
Northeastward by Saint Ninian's 

shrine. 
Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, com 

bine 
The warriors whom the hardy North 
From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 
The rest of Scotland's war array 
With Edward Bruce to westward lay. 
Where Bannock, with his broken bank 
And deep ravine, protects their flank. 
Behind them, screened by sheltering 

wood, 
Thegallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood : 
His men-at-arms bare mace and lance, 
And plumes that wave, and helms that 

glance. 
Thus fair divided by the King, 
Centre, and right, and leftward wing 
Composed his front ; nor distant far 
Was strong reserve to aid the war. 
And 't was to front of this array 
Her guide and Edith made their way. 



Here must they pause ; for, in advance 
As far as one might pitch a lance, 
The Monarch rode along the van. 
The foe's approaching force to scan. 



rilE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



291 



Hi'j I!ne to inar;.!i:.l and to range, 
And ia.i!:s U) square, and fronts to 

chani^e. 
Alone he rode, — from head to heel 
Sheathed in his ready arms of steel : 
Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight. 
But, till more near the shock of fight. 
Reining a palfrey low and light. 
A diadem of gold was set 
Above his bright steel basinet, 
And clasped within its glittering twine 
Was seen the glove of Argentine ; 
Truncheon or leading staff he lacks. 
Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 
He ranged his soldiers for the fight. 
Accoutred thus, in open sight 
Of either host. — Three bowshots far. 
Paused the deep front of England's war, 
And rested on their arms awhile. 
To close and rank their warlike file, 
And hold high council, if that night 
should view the strife, or dawning light. 

XIV. 

D gay, yet fearful to behold, 
Flashing with steel and rough with gold, 
And bristled o'er with bills and 
spears, 
iVith plumes and pennons waving fair, 
Was that bright battle-front ! for there 
Rode England's King and Peers : 
And who, that saw that Monarch ride, 
His kingdom battled by his side, 
Could then his direful doom foretell ! — 
Fair was his seat in knightly selle, 
And in his sprightly eye was set 
Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
Though light and wandering was his 

glance. 
It flashed at sight of shield and lance. 
" Know'st thou," he said, "De Argen- 
tine, 
Yon knight who marshals thus their 

line?" — 
" The tokens on his helmet tell 
The Bruce, my Liege : I know him 

well." — 
" And shall the audacious traitor brave 
The presence where our banners 

wave ? " — 
" So please my Liege," said Argentine, 
" Were he but horsed on steed like mine, 
To give him fair and knightly chance, 
I would adventure forth my lance." — 



" In battle-day," the King replied, 
" Nice tourney rules are set aside. 
— Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 
Set on him. — Sweep him from our 

path 1 " 
And, at King Edward's signal, soon 
Dashed from the ranks Sir Henry 

Boune. 



Of Hereford's high blood he came, 
A race renowned for knightly fame. 
He burned before his Monarch's eye 
To do some deed of chivalry. 
He spurred his steed, he couched his 

lance. 
And darted on the Bruce at once. 

— As motionless as rocks, that bide 
The wrath of the advancing tide. 

The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast 

beat high. 
And dazzled was each gazing eye, — 
The heart had hardly time to think, 
The eyelid scarce had time to wink. 
While on the King, like flash of flame. 
Spurred to full speed the war-horse 

came ! 
The partridge may the falcon mock. 
If that slight palfrey stand the shock, — 
But, swerving from the Knight's career. 
Just as they met, Bruce shunned the 

spear. 
Onward the baffled warrior bore 
His course, — but soon his course was 

o'er ! — 
High in his stirrups stood the King, 
And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
Right on De Boune, the whiles he 

passed, 
Fell that stern dint, — the first, — the 

last ! — 
Such strength upon the blow was put, 
The helmet crashed like hazel-nut ; 
The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, 
Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp. 
Springs from the blow the startled horse. 
Drops to the plain the lifeless corse ; 

— First of that fatal field, how soon. 
How sudden, fell the fierce De Boune ! 



One pitying glance the Monarch sped. 
Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 
Then gently turned his palfrey's head. 



292 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



And, pacing back his sober way, 
SlowJy he gained his own array. 
There round their King the leaders 

crowd. 
And blame his recklessness aloud. 
That risked 'gainst each adventurous 

spear 
A life so valued and so dear. 
His broken weapon's shaft surveyed 
The King, and careless answer made, — 
" My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 
I 've broke my trusty battle-axe." 
'T was then Fitz-Louis, bending low, 
Did Isabel's commission show : 
Edith, disguised, at distance stands, 
And hides her blushes with her hands. 
The Monarch's brow has changed its 

hue, 
Away the gory axe he threw, 
While to the seeming page he drew. 

Clearing war's terrors from his eye. 
Her hand with gentle ease he took, 
With such a kind protecting look, 

As to a weak and timid boy 
Might speak that elder brother's care 
And elder brother's love were there. 



"Fearnot,"hesaid, "ybungAmadine !" 
Then whispered, " Still that name be 

thine. 
Fate plays her wonted fantasy. 
Kind Amadine, with thee and me. 
And sends thee here in doubtful hour. 
But soon we are beyond her power ; 
For on this chosen battle-plain, 
Victor or vanquished, I remain. 
Do thou to yonder hill repair; 
The followers of our host are there. 
And all who may not weapons bear. — 
Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care, — 
Joyful we meet, if all go well ; 
If not, in Arran's holy cell 
Thou must take part with Isabel ; 
For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn. 
Not to regain the Maid of Lorn, 
(The bliss on earth he covets most,) 
Would he forsake his battle-post. 
Or shun the fortune that may fall 
To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — 
But, hark ! some news these trumpets 

tell; 
Forgive my haste, — farewell ! — fare- 
well i " — 



And in a lower voice he said, 
" Be of good cheer, — farewell, sweet 
maid ! " — 



" What train of dust, with trumpet 

sound 
And glimmering spears, is wheeling 

round 
Our leftward flank?" — the Monarch 

cried. 
To Moray's Earl who rode beside. 
" Lo ! round thy station pass the foes ! 
Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a rose." 
The Earl his visor closed, and said, — 
" My wreath shall bloom, or life shall 

fade. — 
Follow, my household ! " — And they go 
Like lightning on the advancing foe. 
" My Liege," said noble Douglas then, 
" Earl Randolph has but one to ten : 
Let me go forth his band to aid ! " — 
" Stir not The error he hath made. 
Let him amend it as he may ; 
I will not weaken mine array." 
Then loudly rose the conflict-cry, 
And Douglas's brave heart swelled 

high, — 
" My Liege, "he said, " with patient ear 
I must not Moray's death - knell 

hear ! " — 
" Then go, — but speed thee back 

again." — _ "_ 

Forth sprung the Douglas with his train : 
But, when they won a rising hill. 
He bade his followers hold them still. 
" See, see ! the routed Southern fly ! — 
The Earl hath won the victory. 
Lo ! where yon steeds run masterless, 
His banner towers above the press. 
Rein up ; our presence would impair 
The fame we come too late to share." 
Back to the host the Douglas rode, 
And soon glad tidings are abroad, 
That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph 

slain, 
His followers fled with loosened rein. — 
That skirmish closed the busy day. 
And, couched in battle's prompt array, 
Each army on their weapons lay. 



It was a night of lovely June, 

High rode in cloudless blue the moon. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



29S 



Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
Old Stirling's towers arose in light, 
And, twined in links of silver bright, 

Her winding river lay. 
Ah, gentle planet ! other sight 
Shall greet thee, next returning night, 
Of broken arms and banners tore. 
And marshes dark with human gore. 
And piles of slaughtered men and horse, 
And Forth that floats the frequent corse. 
And many a wounded wretch to plain 
Beneath thy silver light in vain ! 
But now, from England's host, the cry 
Thou hear'st of wassail revelry. 
While from the Scottish legions pass 
The murmured prayer, the early mass ! — 
Here, numbers had presumption given : 
There, bands o'ermatched sought aid 
from Heaven. 



On Gillie's hill, whose height commands 
The battle-field, fair Edith stands, 
With serf and page unfit for war, 
To eye the conflict from afar. 
O, with what doubtful agony 
She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
Now on the Ochils gleams the sun, 
And glistens now Demayet dun ; 
Is it the lark that carols shrill, 
Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
No ! — distant, but increasing still, 
The trumpet's sound swells up the 
hill. 
With thedeep murmur of thedrum. 
Responsive from the Scottish host. 
Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were tossed. 
His breast and brow each soldier 
crossed, 
And started from the ground ; 
Armed and arrayed for instant fight 
Rose archer, spearman, squire, and 

knight. 
And in the pomp of battle bright 
The dread battalia frowned. 



Now onward, and in open view. 
The countless ranks of England drew, 
Dark rolling like the ocean-tide. 
When the rough west hath chafed his 

pride. 
And his deep roar sends challenge wide 



To all that bars his way ! 
In front the gallant archers trode. 
The men-at-arms behind them rode, 
And midmost of the phalanx broad 

The Monarch held his sway. 
Beside him many a war-horse fumes, 
Around him waves a sea of plumes, 
Where many a knight in battle known, 
And some who spurs had first braced 

on. 
And deemed that fight should see them 
won, 

King Edward's hests obey. 
De Argentine attends his side. 
With stout De Valence, Pembroke's 

pride. 
Selected champions from the train. 
To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
Upon the Scottish foe he gazed, — 
At once, before his sight amazed 

Sunk banner, spear, and shield : 
Each weapon-point is downward sent. 
Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
" The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 

For pardon they have kneeled." 
"Ay ! but they bend to other powers. 
And other pardon sue than ours ! 
See where yon barefoot Abbot stands. 
And blesses them with lifted hands ! 
Upon the spot where they have kneeled 
These men will die, or win the field." 
"Then prove we if they die or win ! 
Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." 



Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high. 

Just as the Northern ranks arose. 
Signal for England's archery 

To halt and bend their bows. 
Then stepped each yeoman forth a pace. 
Glanced at the intervening space. 

And raised his left hand high ; 
To the right ear the cords they bring 
At once ten thousand bowstrings ring. 

Ten thousand arrows fly ! 
Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
The ceaseless fury of their shot ; 

As fiercely and as fast, 
Forth whistling came the gray-goose 

wing 
As the wild hailstones pelt and ring 

Adown December's blast. 
Nor mountain-targe of tough bull-hide. 
Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide ; 



294 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Woe, woe to Scotland's bannered pride, 

If the fell shower may last ! 
Upon the right, behind the wood, 
Each by his steed dismounted, stood 

The Scottish chivalry ; 
With foot in stirrup, hand on mane. 
Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
His own keen heart, his eager train. 
Until the archers gained the plain ; 

Then " Mount, ye gallants free ! " 
He cried ; and, vaulting from the 

ground, 
His saddle every horseman found. 
On high their glittering crests they toss, 
As springs the wild-fire from the moss ; 
The shield hangs down on every breast, 
Each ready lance is in the rest. 

And loud shouts Edward Bruce, — 
" Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe ! 
We '11 tame the terrors of their bow, 

And cut the bowstring loose I " 



Then spurs were dashed in chargers' 

flanks, 
They rushed among the archer ranks, 
No spears were there the shock to let, 
No stakes to turn the charge were set, 
And how shall yeoman's armor slight 
Stand the long lance and mace of might? 
Or what may their short swords avail, 
'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail? 
Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 
High o'er theii heads the weapons 

swung. 
And shriek and groan and vengeful 

shout 
Give note of triumph and of rout ! 
Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 
Their English hearts the strife made 

good. 
Borne down at length on every side. 
Compelled to flight they scatter wide. 
Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee. 
And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee ! 
The broken bows of Bannock's shore 
Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! 
Round Wakefield's merry May-pole 

now 
The maids may twine the summer 

bough, 
May northward look with longing 

glance. 
For those that wont to lead the dance, 



.11 



For the blithe archers look in vain ! 
Broken, dispersed, m flight o'erta'en. 
Pierced through, trod down, by thorn- 
sands slain. 
They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 



The Kingwith scorn beheld their flight. 
"Are these," he said, "our yeomen 

wight ? 
Each braggart churl could boast be- 
fore 
Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore ! 
Fitter to plunder chase or park 
Than make a manly foe their mark. 
Forward, each gentleman and knipht ! 
Let gentle blood show generous might. 
And chivalry redeem the fight ! " 
To rightward of the wild affray 
The field showed fair and level way ; 

But, in mid-space, the Bruce's c^^^e 
Had bored the ground with man" a 

pit. 
With turf and brushwood hidden yet, 

That formed a ghastly snare. 
Rushing, ten thousand horsemen cama 
With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 

That panted for the shock ! 
With blazing crests and banners spread, 
And trumpet-clang and clamor dread, 
The wide plain thundered to then 
tread. 

As far as Stirling rock. 
Down ! down ! in headlong overthrow 
Horseman and horse, the foremost go, 

Wild floundering on the field ! 
The first are in destruction's gorge. 
Their followers wildly o'er them urge ; 

The knightly helm and shield, 
The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
Strong hand, high heart, are useless 

here ! 
Loud from the mass confused the cry 
Of dying warriors swells on high. 
And steeds that shriek in agony ! 
They came like mountain-torrent red, 
That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 
They broke like that same torrent's 

wave, 
When swallowed by a darksome cave. 
Billows on billows burst and boil. 
Maintaining still the stern turmoil. 
And to their wild and tortured groan 
Each adds new terrors of his own 1 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



295 



Too strong in courage and in might 
Was England yet, to yield the fight. 

Her noblest all are here ; 
Names that to fear were never known, 
Bold Norfolk's Earl Da Brotherton, 

And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
There Gloster plied the bloody sword, 
And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 

Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came. 
And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's 

fame, — 
Names known too well in Scotland's 

war. 
At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 
Blazed broader yet in after years. 
At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
With caution o'er the ground they 

tread. 
Slippery with blood and piled with dead, 
Till, hand to hand in battle set, 
The bills with spears and axes met, 
And, closing dark on every side. 
Raged the full contest far and wide. 
Then was the strength of Douglas tried, 
Then proved was Randolph's generous 

pride. 
And well did Stuart's actions grace 
The sire of Scotland's royal race ! 

Firmly they kept their ground : 
As firmly England onward pressed, 
And down went many a noble crest. 
And rent was many a valiant breast, 

And Slaughter revelled round. 



Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 
Unceasing blow by blow was met ; 

The groans of those who fell 
Were drowned amid the shriller clang 
That from the blades and harness rang, 

And in the battle-yell. 
Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot. 
Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
And O, aniid that waste of life. 
What various motives fired the strife ! 
The aspiring Noble bled for fame. 
The Patriot for his country's claim ; 
This Knight his youthful strength to 

prove. 
And that to win his lady's love ; 



Some fought from ruffian thirst of blood, 
From habit some, or hardihood. 
But ruffian stern, and soldier good. 

The noble and the slave. 
From various cause the same wild road, 
On the same bloody morning, trode, 

To that dark inn, the grave ! 



The tug of strife to flag begins. 
Though neither loses yet nor wins. 
High rides the sun, thick roils the dust, 
And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
And Randolph wipes his bloody brow ; 
Nor less had toiled each Southern 

knight. 
From morn till midday in the fight. 
Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp. 
And Montague must quit his spear. 
And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere ! 
The blows of Berkley fall less fast. 
And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 

Hath lost its lively tone ; 
Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word, 
And Percy's shout was fainter heard, — 
" My merrymen, fight on ! " 



Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye, 
The slackening of the storm could spy. 
"One effort more, and Scotland's free I 
Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 
Is firm as Ailsa Rock ; 
Rush on with Highland sword and 

targe, 
I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge ; 

Now forward to the shock ! " 
At once the spears were forward 

thrown, 
Against the sun the broadswords 

shone ; 
The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 
And loud King Robert's voice was 

known, — 
"Carrick, press on, — they fail, they 

fail ! 
Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, 

The foe is fainting fast ! 
Each strike for parent, child, and wif«, 
For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 
The battle cannot last ! " 



30 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



XXIX. 

The fresh and desperate onset bore 
The foes three furlongs back and more, 
Leaving their noblest in their gore. 

Alone, De Argentine 
Yet bears on high his red-cross shield, 
Gathers the relics of the field, 
Kenews the ranks where they have 
reeled, 

And still makes good the line. 
Brief strife, but fierce, his efforts raise 
A bright but momentary blaze. 
Fair Edith heard the Southern shout, 
Beheld them turning from the rout. 
Heard the wild call their trumpets sent, 
In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. 
That rallying force, combined anew, 
Appeared, in her distracted view, 

To hem the islesmen round ; 
" O God ! the combat they renew, 

And is no rescue found ! 
And ye that look thus tamely on. 
And see your native land o'erthro\%Ti, 
O ! are your hearts of flesh or stone ? " 



The multitude that watched afar, 

Rejected from the ranks of war, 
Had not unmoved beheld the fight. 
When strove the Bruce for Scotland's 

right ; 
Each heart had caught the patriot spark. 
Old man and stripling, priest and clerk. 
Bondsman and serf; even female hand 
Stretched to the hatchet or the brand ; 
But, when mute Amadine they heard 
Give to their zeal his signal-word, 

A frenz)'^ fired the throng ; — 
" Portents and miracles impeach 
Our sloth, — the dumb our duties 

teach, — 
Andhethatgives the mute his speech. 
Can bid the weak be strong. 
To us, as to our lords, are given 
A native earth, a promised heaven ; 
To us, as to our lords, belongs 
The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 
The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, 

warms 
Our breasts as theirs, — To arms ! to 

arms ! " 
To arms they flew, — axe, club, or 

spear, — 
And mimic ensigns high they rear, 



^ 



And, like a bannered host afar. 

Bear down on England's wearied war. 



Already scattered o'er the plain. 
Reproof, command, and counsel vain, 
The rearward squadrons fled amain, 

Or made but doubtful stay ; — 
Butwhentheymarked theseemingshow 
Of fresh and fierce and marshalled foe. 

The boldest broke array. 
O, give their hapless prince his due ! 
In vain the Royal Edward threw 

His person 'mid the spears. 
Cried, " Fight !" to terror and despair, 
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair, 

And cursed their caitiflf fears: 
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein, 
And forced him from the fatal plain. 
With them rode Argentine, until 
They gained the summit of the hill, 
But quitted there the train : — 
" In yonder field a gage I left, 
I must not live of fame bereft; 

I needs must turn again. 
Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace 
The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 

I know his banner well. 
God send my Sovereign joy and bliss. 
And many a happier field than this ! — 

Once more, my Liege, farewell 1 " 



Again he faced the battle-field, — 

Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. 

'■ Now, then," he said, and couched his 

spear, 
" My course is run, the goal is near ; 
One effort more, one brave career. 

Must close this race of mine." 
Then in his stirrups rising high. 
He shouted loud his battle-cry, 

" Saint James for Argentine ! " 
And, of the bold pursuers, four 
The gallant knight from saddle bore ; 
But not unharmed, — a lance's point 
Has found his breastplate's loosened 
joint. 

An axe has razed his crest ; 
Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord. 
Who pressed the chase vviih gory sword 

He rode with spear in rest. 
And through his bloody tartans bored. 

And through his gallant breast. 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



291 



Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer 
Yet writhed him up against the spear 

And swung his broadsword round ! 
— Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave 

way, 
Beneath that blow's tremendous sway, 

The blood gushed from the wound ; 
And the grim Lord of Colonsay 

Hath turned him on the ground, 
And laughed in death-pang, that his 

blade 
The mortal thrust so well repaid. 



Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done, 
To use his conquest boldly won ; 
/.nd gave command for horse and spear 
To press the Southron's scattered rear. 
Nor let his broken force combine, 
— When the war-cry of Argentine 

Fell faintly on his ear; 
" Save, save his life," he cried, "Osave 
The kind, the noble, and the brave ! " 
The squadrons round free passage gave. 

The wounded knight drew near ; 
He raised his red-cross shield no more, 
Helm, cuish, and breastplate streamed 

with gore, 
Yet, as he saw the King advance. 
He strove even then to couch his lance : 

The effort was in vain ! 
The spur-stroke failed to rouse the 

horse ; 
Wounded and weary, in mid course 

He stumbled on the plain. 
Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
To raise his head, his helm to loose ; — 

" Lord Earl, the day is thine ! 
My Sovereign's charge, and adverse 

fate. 
Have made our meeting all too late : 

Yet this may Argentine, 
Asboon from ancient comrade, crave, — 
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." 



Bruce pressed his dying hand, — its grasp 
Kindly replied ; but, in his clasp. 

It stiffened and grew cold. — 
"And, O farewell ! " the victor cried, 
" Of chivalry the flower and pride. 

The arm in battle bold, 
Tl^e courteous mien, the noble race. 
The stainless faith, the manly face ! ^ 



Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine, 
For late-wake of De Argentine. 
O'er better knight on death-bier laid 
Torch never gleamed nor mass was 
said ! " 

XXXV. 

Nor for De Argentine alone 
Through Ninian's church these torches 

shone. 
And rose the death-prayer's awful tone. 
That yellow lustre glimmered pale 
On broken plate and bloodied mail, 
Rent crest and shattered coronet. 
Of Baron, Earl, and Banneret ; 
And the best names that England knew 
Claimedin the death-prayer dismal due. 

Yet mourn not, Land of Fame ! 
Though ne'er the Leopards on thy 

shield 
Retreated from so sad a field. 

Since Norman William came. 
Oft may thine annals justly boast 
Of battles stern by Scotland lost ; 

Grudge not her victory. 
When forher freeborn rights she strove ; 
Rights dear to all who freedom love. 

To none so dear as thee ! 

XXXVI. 

Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear 
Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ; 
With him, a hundred voices tell 
Of prodigy and miracle, 

" For the mute page had spoke." — 
" Page ! " said Fitz-Louis, " rather say, 
An angel sent from realms of day 

To burst the English yoke. 
I saw his plume and bonnet drop. 
When hurrying from the mountain-top; 
A lovely brow, dark locks that wave. 
To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
A step as light upon the green 
As if his pinions waved unseen ! " 
" Spoke he with none?" — " Withnon* 

— one word 
Burst when he saw the Island Lord 
Returning from the battle-field." — 
"What answer made the Chief?" — 

" He kneeled. 
Durst not look up, but muttered low, 
Some mingled sounds that none might 

know, 
And greeted him, 'twixt joy and fear, 
As being of superior sphere." 



298 



THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 



Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, 
Heaped then with thousands of the 

slain, 
'Mid victor monarch's musings high, 
Mirth laughed in good Kmg Robert's 

eye : — 
" And bore he such angelic air, 
Such noble front, such waving hair ? 
Hath Ronald kneeled to him ? " he 

said ; 
" Then must we call the church to aid — 



Our will be to the Abbot known. 
Ere these strange news are wider blown. 
To Cambuskenneth straigiit ye pass, 
And deck the church for solemn mass, 
To pay for high deliverance given, 
A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. 
Let him array, besides, such state. 
As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
Ourself the cause, through fortune's 

spite, 
That once broke short that spousal rite, 
Ourself will grace, with early morn, 
The Bridal of the Maid of Lorn." 



CONCLUSION. 

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way ; 
Go boldly forth ; nor yet thy master blame, 
Who chose no patron for his humble lay. 
And graced thy numbers with no friendly name. 
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame. 
There was — and O ! how many sorrows crowd 
Into these two brief words ! — the^'e luas a claim 
By generous friendship given — had fate allowed. 
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud I 

All angel now — yet little less than all. 
While still a pilgrim in our world below ! 
What 'vails it us that patience to recall 
Which hid its own to soothe all other woe ; 
What 'vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow 
Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair : 
And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know, 
That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair. 
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there 1 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



a9i 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Come, Lucy ! while 't is morning hour, 
The woodland brook we needs must 
pass ; 
So, ere the sun assume his power, 
We shelter in our poplar bower, 
Where dew lies long upon the flower, 
Though vanished from the velvet 
grass. 
Curbing the stream, this stony ridge 
May serve us for a sylvan bridge ; 
For here, compelled to disunite. 
Round petty isles the runnels glide, 
And, chafing off their puny spite, 
The shallow murmurers waste their 
might, 
Vielding to footstep free and light 
A dry-shod pass from side to side. 



Nay, why this hesitating pause ? 
And, Lucy, as thy step withdraws. 
Why sidelong eye the streamlet's brim ? 

Titania's foot without a slip, 
Like thine, though timid, light, and slim. 

From stone to stone might safely trip. 

Nor risk the glow-worm clasp to dip 
That binds her slipper's silken rim. 
Or trust thy lover's strength : nor fear 

That this same stalwart arm of mine. 
Which could yon oak's prone trunk up- 
rear. 
Shall shrink beneath the burden dear 

Of form so slender, light, and fine. — 
So, — now, the danger dared at last. 
Look back, and smile at perils past ! 



And now we reach the favorite glade, 
Paledinbycopsewood, cliff, and stone. 

Where never harsher sounds invade. 
To break affection's whispering tone, 



Than the deep breeze that waves the 
shade. 

Than the small brooklet's feeble 
moan. 
Come ! rest thee on thy wonted seat ; 

Mossed is the stone, the turf is green, 
A place where lovers best may meet 

Who wouldnotthattheirlovebe seen. 
The boughs, that dim the summer sky, 
Shall hide us from each lurking spy. 

That fain would spread the invidious 
tale, 
How Lucy of the lofty eye. 
Noble in birth, in fortunes high, _ 
She for whom lords and barons sigh. 

Meets her poor Arthur in the dale. 



How deep that blush ! — how deep that 

sigh ! 
And why does Lucy shun mine eye? 
Is it because that crimson draws 
Its color from some secret cause, 
Some hidden movement of the breast, 
She would not that her Arthur guessed ? 
O ! quicker far is lovers' ken 
Than the dull glance of common men, 
And, by strange sympathy, can spell 
The thoughts the loved one will not 

tell! 
And mine, in Lucy's blush, saw met 
The hues of pleasure and regret ; 
Pride mingled in the sigh her voice. 
And shared with Love the crimson 
glow ; 
Well pleased that thou art Arthur's 
choice. 
Yet shamed thine own is placed so 
low : 
Thou turn'st thy self-confessingcheek, 
As if to meet the breeze's cooling ; 
Then, Lucy, hear thy tutor speak. 
For Love, too, has his hours of 
schooling. 



3«» 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



Too oft my anxious eye has spied 
That secret grief thou fain wouldst 

hide, 
The passing pang of humbled pride ; 
Too oft when through the splendid 
hall, 
The loadstar of each heart and eye. 
My fair one leads the glittering ball, 
Will her stol'n glance on Arthur fall. 
With such a blush and such a sigh ! 
Thou wouldst not yield, for wealth or 
rank, 
The heart thy worth and beauty 
won. 
Nor leave me on this mossy bank, 

To meet a rival on a throne : 
Why, then, should vain repinings rise, 
That to thy lover fate denies 
A nobler name, a wide domain, 
A Baron's birth, a menial train. 
Since Heaven assigned him, for his 

part, 
A lyre, a falchion, and a heart ? 



My sword, — its master must be 
dumb ; 
But, when a soldier names my 
name, 
Approach, my Lucy ! fearless come. 
Nor dread to hear of Arthur's 
shame. 
My heart, — 'mid all yon courtly crew, 

Of lordly rank and lofty line. 
Is there to love and honor true. 
That boasts a pulse so warm as 
mine ? 
They praised thy diamonds' lustre 
rare, — 
Matched with thine eyes, I thought 
it faded ; 



They praised the pearls that bound thy 
hair, — 
I only saw the locks they braided ; 
They talked of wealthy dower and land. 
And titles of high birth the token, — 
I thought of Lucy's heart and hand, 
Nor knew the sense of what was 
spoken. 
And yet, if ranked in Fortune's roll, 
I might have learned their choice un- 
wise. 
Who rate the dower above the soul, 
And Lucy's diamonds o'er her eyes. 



My lyre, — it is an idle toy, 

That borrows accents not its own, 
Like warbler of Columbian sky, 

That sings but in a mimic tone. 
Ne'er did it sound o'er sainted well. 
Nor boasts it aught of Border spell ; 
Its strings no feudal slogan pour, 
Its heroes draw no broad claymore ; 
No shouting clans applauses raise. 
Because it sung their fathers' praise ; 
On Scottish moor, or English down, 
It ne'er was graced with fair renown ; 
Nor won — best meed to minstrel 

true — 
One favoring smile from fair Buc- 

CLEUCH ! 

By one poor streamlet sounds its tone. 
And heard by one dear maid alone. 



But, if thou bidd'st, these tones shall 

tell 
Of errant knight, and damozelle ; 
Of the dread knot a Wizard tied, 
In punishment of maiden's pride. 
In notes of marvel and of fear, 
That best may charm romantic ear. 



For Lucy loves, — like Collins, ill-starred name ! 
Whose lay's requital was that tardy Fame, 
Who bound no laurel round his living head, 
Should hang it o'er his monument when dead, — 
For Lucy loves to tread enchanted strand, 
And thread, like him, the maze of Fairy-land ; 
Of golden battlements to view the gleam. 
And slumber soft by some Elysian stream ; 
Such lays she loves, — and, such my Lucy's choice. 
What other song can claim her Poet's voice ? 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



30« 



CANTO FIRST. 



I. 



Where is the Maiden of mortal strain, 
That may match with the Baron of 

Triermain ? 
She must be lovely, and constant, and 

kind. 
Holy and pure, and humble of mind. 
Blithe of cheer, and gentle of mood, 
Courteous, and generous, and noble of 

blood, — 
Lovely as the sun's first ray, 
When it breaks the clouds of an April 

day ; 
Constant and true as the widowed dove. 
Kind as a minstrel that sings of love ; 
Pure as the fountain in rocky cave. 
Where never sunbeam kissed the wave ; 
Humble as maiden that loves in vain. 
Holy as hermit's vesper strain ; 
Gentle as breeze that but whispers and 

dies, 
Yet blithe as the light leaves that dance 

in its sighs ; 
Courteous as monarch the mom he is 

crowned. 
Generous as spring-dews that bless the 

glad ground ; 
Noble her blood as the currents that met 
In the veins of the noblest Plantage- 

net, — 
Such must her form be, her mood, and 

her strain. 
That shall match with Sir Ronald of 

Triermain. 



Sir Ronald de Vaux he hath laid him to 

sleep. 
His blood it was fevered, his breathing 

was deep. 
He had been pricking against the Scot, 
The foray was long, and the skirmish 

hot ; 
His dinted helm and his buckler's plight 
Bore token of a stubborn fight. 

All in the castle must hold them still. 
Harpers must lull him to his rest. 
With the slow soft tunes he loves the 

best, 
rill sleep sink down upon his breast, 
Like the dew on a summer hill. 



It was the dawn of an autumn day ; 
The sun was struggling with frost-fog 

gray, 
That like a silvery crape was spread 
Round Skiddaw's dim and distant head. 
And faintly gleamed each painted pane 
Of the lordly halls of Triermain, 

When that Baron bold awoke. 
Starting he woke, and loudly did call, 
Rousing his menials in bower and hall. 

While hastily he spoke. 



" Hearken, my minstrels ! Which of ye 

all 
Touched his harp with that dying fall, 

So sweet, so soft, so faint, 
It seemed an angel's whispered call 

To an expiring saint ? 
And hearken, my merrymen ! What 
time or where 
Did she pass, that maid with her 
heavenly brow. 
With her look so sweet and her eyes so 

fair. 
And her graceful step and her angel air, 
And the eagle plume in her dark brown 
hair. 
That passed from my bower e'en 
now ! " 

V. 

Answered him Richard de Bretville ; he 
Was chief of the Baron's minstrelsy, — • 
" Silent, noble chieftain, we 

Have sat since midnight close, 
When such lulling sounds as the brook- 
let sings, 
Murmured from our melting strings, 
And hushed you to repose. 
Had a harp-note sounded here. 
It had caught my watchful ear, 
Although it fell as faint and shy 
As bashful maiden's half-formed sigh. 

When she thinks her lover near." 
Answered Philip of Fashwaite tall. 
He kept guard in the outer hall, — 
" Since at eve our watch took post, 
Not a foot has thy portal crossed ; 

Else had I heard the steps, though 
low 
And light they fell, as when earth re- 
ceives, 



302 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



In mom of frost, the withered leaves, 
That drop when no winds blow. " - 



*' Then come thou hither, Henry, my 

page, 
Whom I saved from the sack of Her- 
mitage, 
When that dark castle, tower and spire. 
Rose to the skies a pile of fire. 

And reddened all the Nine-stane 
Hill, 
And the shrieks of death, that wildly 

broke 
Through devouring flame and smother- 
ing smoke. 

Made the warrior'sheart-blood chill. 
The trustiest thou of all my train, 
My fleetest courser thou must rein, 

And ride to Lyulph's tower, 
And from the Baron of Triermain 

Greet well that sage of power. 
He is sprung from Druid sires, 
And British bards that tuned their lyres 
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise, 
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise. 
Gifted like his gifted race, 
He the characters can trace, 
Graven deep in elder time 
Upon Hellvellyn's cliffs sublime ; 
Sign and sigil well doth he know. 
And can bode of weal and woe, 
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars, 
From mystic dreams and course of stars. 
He shall tell if middle earth 
To that enchanting shape gave birth, 
Or if 't was but an airy thing. 
Such as fantastic slumbers bring, 
Framed from the rainbow'svarying dyes. 
Or fading tints of western skies. 
For, by the blessed rood I swear, 
If that fair form breathe vital air. 
No other maiden by my side 
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride ! " 



The faithful Page he mounts his steed. 
And soon he crossed green Irthing's 

mead. 
Dashed o'c. Kirkoswald's verdant plain, 
And Eden barred his course in vain. 
He passed red Penrith's Table Round, 
For feats of chivalry renowned, 



Left Mayburgh's mound and stones of 

power, 
By Druids raised in magic hour. 
And traced the Eamont's winding way, 
Till Ulfo's lake beneath him lay. 



Onward he rode, the pathway still 
Winding betwixt the lake and liill ; 
Till, on the fragment of a rock. 
Struck from its base by lightning shock, 

He saw the hoary Sage : 
The silver moss and lichen twined. 
With fern and deer-hair checked and 
lined, 

A cushion fit for age ; 
And o'er him shook the aspen-tree, 
A restless rustling canopy. 
Then sprung young Henry from hi& 

selle. 
And greeted Lyulph grave. 
And then his master's tale did tell, 

And then for counsel crave. 
The Man of Years mused long and deep. 
Of time's lost treasures taking keep, 
And then, as rousing from a sleep, 

His solemn answer gave. 



" That maid is born of middle earth, 

And may of man be won. 
Though there have glided since her birth 

Five hundred years and one. 
But where 's the Knight in all the north, 
That dare the adventure follow forth. 
So perilous to knightly worth, 
In the valley of St. John ? 
Listen, youth, to what I tell. 
And bind it on thy memory well ; 
Nor muse that I commence the rhyme 
Far distant 'mid the wrecks of time. 
The mystic tale, by bard and sage. 
Is handed down from Merlin's age. 



LYULPH S TALE. 

" King Arthur has ridden from n-crty 
Carlisle, 
When Pentecost was o'er ; 
He journeyed like errant-knight the 

while. 
And sweetly the summer sun did smiK 
On mountain, moss, and jnoor. 



THE BRIDAL oF TRIERMAIN. 



303 



Above his solitary track 
Rose Glaramara's ridi^y back, 
Amid whose yawning gulfs the sun 
Cast umbered radiance red and dun, 
Though never sunbeam could discern 
The surface of that sable tam. 
In whose black mirror you may spy 
The stars, while noontide lights the sky. 
The gallant King he skirted still 
The margin of that mighty hill ; 
Rock upon rocks incumbent hung. 
And torrents, down the gullies flung, 
Joined the rude river that brawled on, 
Recoiling now from crag and stone. 
Now diving deep from human ken, 
And raving down its darksome glen. 
The Monarch judged this desert wild, 
With such romantic ruin piled. 
Was theatre by Nature's hand 
For feat of high achievement planned. 



" O rather he chose, that Monarch bold. 

On vent'rous quest to ride. 
In plate and mail, by wood and wold, 
Than, with ermine trapped and cloth of 
gold. 
In princely bower to bide ; 
The bursting crash of a foeman's spear, 

As it shivered against his mail, 
Was merrier music to his ear 

Than courtier's whispered tale : 
And the clash of Caliburn more dear. 
When on the hostile casque it rung, 
Than ali the lays 
To their monarch's praise 
That the harpers of Reged sung. 
He loved better to rest by wood or ri ver. 
Than in bower of his bride, Dame 

Guenever, 
For he left that lady so lovely of cheer. 
To follow adventures of danger and 

fear; 
And the frank-hearted Monarch full 

little did wot. 
That she smiled, in his absence, on 
brave Lancelot. 



" He rode, till over down and dell 
The shade more broad and deeper fell ; 
And though around the mountain's head 
Flowed streams of purple, and gold, and 
red, 



Dark at the base, unblest by beam. 
Frowned the black rocks, and roared 

the stream. 
With toil the King his way pursued 
By lonely Threlkeid's waste and wood. 
Till on his course obliquely shone 
The narrow valley of Saint John, 
Down sloping to the western sky. 
Where lingering sunbeams love to lie. 
Right glad to feel those beams again, 
The King drew up his charger's rein ; 
With gauntlet raised he screened his 

sight. 
As dazzled with the level light, 
And, from beneath his glove of mail, 
Scanned at his ease the lovely vale. 
While 'gainst the sun his armor bright 
Gleamed ruddy like the beaccm's light. 



" Paled in by many a lofty hill. 
The narrow dale lay smooth and still, 
And, down its verdant bosom led, 
A winding brooklet found its bed. 
But, midmost of the vale, a mound 
Arose with airy turrets crowned, 
Buttress, and rampire's circling bound 

And mighty keep and tower ; 
Seemed some primeval giant's hand 
The castle's massive walls had planned, 
A ponderous bulwark to withstand 

Ambitious Nimrod's power. 
Above the moated entrance slung. 
The balanced drawbridge trembling 
hung. 

As jealous of a foe ; 
Wicket of oak, as iron hard. 
With iron studded, clenched, and 

barred. 
And pronged portcullis, joined to guard 

The gloomy pass below. 
But the gray walls no banners crowned, 
Upon the watch-tower's airy round 
No warder stood his horn to sound, 
No guard beside the bridge was found. 
And, where the Gothic gateway frowned, 

Glanced neither bill nor bow. 



" Beneath the castle's gloomy pride. 
In ample round did Arthur ride 
Three times ; nor living thing he spied. 

Nor heard a living sound. 
Save that, awakening from her dream. 



304 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



The owlet now began to scream, 
In concert with the rushing stream, 

That washed the battled mound. 
He lighted from his goodly steed, 
And he left him to graze on bank and 

mead ; 
And slowly he climbed the narrow way 
That reached the entrance grim and 

gray, 
And he stood the outward arch below, 
And his bugle-horn prepared to blow, 

In summons blithe and bold, 
Deeming to rouse from iron sleep 
The guardian of this dismal Keep, 

Which well he guessed the hold 
Of wizard stern, or goblin grim. 
Or pagan of gigantic limb, 

The tyrant of the wold. 



" The ivory bugle's golden tip 
Twice touched the Monarch's manly 
lip, 

And twice his hand withdrew. 
Think not but Arthur's heart was good ! 
His shield was crossed by the blessed 

rood, 
Had a pagan host before him stood. 

He had charged them through and 
through ; 
Yet the silence of that ancient place 
Sunk on his heart, and he paused a 
space 

Ere yet his horn he blew. 
But, instant as its 'larum rung, 
The castle gate was open flung. 
Portcullis rose with crashing groan 
Full harshly up its groove of stone : 
The balance-beams obeyed the blast. 
And down the trembling drawbridge 

cast ; 
The vaulted arch before him lay. 
With naught to bar the gloomv way. 
And onward Arthur paced, with hand 
On Caliburn's resistless brand. 



" A hundred torches, flashing bright. 
Dispelled at once the gloomy night 

That loured along the walls. 
And showed the King's astonished 
sight 

The inmates of the halls. 



Nor wizard stem, nor goblin grim, 
Nor giant huge of form and limb, 

Nor heathen knight was there ; 
But the cressets, which odors flung aloft, 
Showed by their yellow light and soft, 

A band of damsels fair. 
Onward they came, like summer wave. 

That dances to the shore ; 
An hundred voices welcome gave, 

And welcome o'er and o'er ! 
An hundred lovely hands assail 
The bucklers of the monarch's mail. 
And busy labored to unhasp 
Rivet of steel and iron clasp. 
One wrapped him in a mantle fair, 
And one flung odors on his hair ; 
His short curled ringlets one smoothed 

down. 
One wreathed them with a myrtle 

crown. 
A bride upon her wedding-day. 
Was tended ne'er by troop so gay. 



" Loud laughed they all, — the King, 

in vain. 
With questions tasked the giddy train ; 
Let him entreat, or crave, or call, 
'T was one reply, — loud laughed they 

all. 
Then o'er him mimic chains they fling, 
Framed of the fairest flowers of spring. 
While some their gentle force unite, 
Onward to drag the wondering knight, 
Some, bolder, urge his pace with blows, 
Dealt with the lily or the rose. 
Behind him were in triumph borne 
The warlike arms he late had worn, 
Four of the train combined to rear 
The terrors of Tintadgel's spear ; 
Two, laughing at their lack of strength, 
Dragged Caliburn in cumbrous length ; 
One, while she aped a martial stride, 
Placed on her brows the helmet's pride; 
Then screamed, 'twixt laughter and sur- 
prise. 
To feel its depth o'er\vhelm her eyes, 
With revel-shout, and triumph-song, 
Thus gayly marched the giddy throng. 



" Through many a gallery and hall 
They led, I ween, their royal thrall ; 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



30s 



At length, beneath a fair arcade 
Their march and song at once they 

stayed 
The eldest maiden of the band 

(The lovely maid was scarce eigh- 
teen) 
Raised, with imposing air, her hand, 
And j-everent silence did command, 

On entrance of their Queen, — 
And they were mute. — But as a glance 
They steal on Arthur's countenance 

Bewildered with surprise. 
Their smothered mirth again 'gan speak, 
In archly dimpled chin and cheek, 

And laughter-lighted eyes. 



•'The attributes of those high days 
Now only live in minstrel-lays ; 
For Nature, now exhausted, still 
Was then profuse of good and ill. 
Strength was gigantic, valor high, 
And wisdom soared beyond the sky, 
And beauty had such matchless beam 
As lights not now a lover's dream. 
Yet e'en in that romantic age, 

Ne'er were such charms by mortal 
seen, 
As Arthur's dazzled eyes engage, 
When forth on that enchanted stage. 
With glittering train of maid and page, 

Advanced the castle's Queen ! 
While up the hall she slowly passed, 
Her dark eye on the King she cast, 

That flashed expression strong ; 
The longer dwelt that lingering look, 
Her cheek the livelier color took, 
And scarce the shamefaced King could 
brook 

The gaze that lasted long. 
A sage, who had that look espied, 
Where kindling passion strove with 

pride. 
Had whispered, ' Prince, beware ! 
From the chafed tiger rend the prey, 
Rush on the lion when at bay, 
Bar the fell dragon's blighted way. 

But shun that lovely snare ! ' — 



"At once, that inward strife suppressed, 
The dame approached her warlike 
guest, 

ao 



With greeting in that fair degree, 
Where female pride and courtesy 
Are blended with such passing art 
As awes at once and charms the heart 
A courtly welcome first she gave. 
Then of his goodness 'gan to crave 

Construction fair and true 
Of her light maidens' idle mirth, 
Who drew from lonely glens their birth, 
Nor knew to pay to stranger worth 

And dignity their due ; 
And then she prayed that he would 

rest 
That night her castle's honored guest. 
The Monarch meetly thanks expressed ; 
The banquet rose at her behest, 
With lay and tale, and laugh and jest, 

Apace the evening flew. 



" The lady sat the Monarch by. 
Now in her turn abashed and shy, 
And with indifference seemed to hear 
Tha toys he whispered in her ear. 
Her bearing modest was and fair, 
Yet shadows of constraint were there, 
That showed an over-cautious care 

Some inward thought to hide ; 
Oft did she pause in full reply. 
And oft cast down her large dark eye, 
Oft checked the soft voluptuous sigh. 

That heaved her bosom's pride. 
Slight symptoms those, but shepherds 

know 
How hot the midday sun shall glow, 

From the mist of morning sky ; 
And so the wily Monarch guessed. 
That this assumed restraint expressed 
More ardent passions in the breast. 

Than ventured to the eye. 
Closer he pressed, while beakers rang, 
While maidens laughed and minstrels 
sang. 

Still closer to her ear — 
But why pursue the common tale ? 
Or wherefore show how knights prevail 

When ladies dare to hear? 
Or wherefore trace, from what slight 

cause 
Its source one tyrant passion draws, 

Till, mastering all within, 
Where lives the man that has not tried. 
How mirth can into folly glide. 

And folly into sin 1 " 



3o6 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



CANTO SECOND. 
lyulph's tale continued. 
I. 
" Another day, another day. 
And yet another, glides away ! 
The Saxon stern, the pagan Dane, 
Maraud on Britain's shores again. 
Arthur, of Christendom the flower. 
Lies loitering in a lady's bower ; 
The horn, that foemen wont to fear, 
Sounds but to wake the Cumbrian deer, 
And Caliburn, the British pride, 
Hangs useless by a lover's side. 



" Another day, another day, 
And yet another, glides away. 
Heroic plans in pleasure drowned. 
He thinks not of the Table Round ; 
In lawless love dissolved his life. 
He thinks not of his beauteous wite : 
Better he loves to snatch a flower 
From bosom of his paramour. 
Than from a Saxon knight to wrest 
The honors of his heathen crest : 
Better to wreathe, 'mid tresses brown, 
The heron's plume her hawk struck 

down. 
Than o'er the altar give to flow 
The banners of a Paynim foe. 
Thus, week by week, and day by day, 
His life inglorious glides away ; 
But she, that soothes his dream, with 

fear 
Beholds his hour of waking near. 



" Much force havemortalcharmsto stay 
Our peace in Virtue's toilsome way ; 
But Guendolen's might far outshine 
Each maid of merely mortal line. 
Her mother was of human birth. 
Her sire a Genie of the earth. 
In days of old deemed to preside 
O'er lovers' wiles and beauty's pride ; 
By youths and virgins worshipped long. 
With festive dance and choral song. 
Till, when the cross to Britain came, 
On heathen altars died the flame. 
Now, deep in Wastdale solitude. 
The downfall of his rights he rued, 
And, born of his resentment heir, 
He trained to guile that lady fair, 



To sink in slothful sin and shame 
The champions of the Christian nama 
Well skilled to keep vain thoughts alive, 
And all to promise, naught to give. 
The timid youth had hope in store, 
The bold and pressing gained no more. 
As wildered children leave their home, 
After the rainbow's arch to roam, 
Her lovers bartered fair esteem, 
Faith, fame, and honor, for a dream. 



" Her sire's soft arts the soul to tame 
She practised thus — till Arthur came ; 
Then, frail humanity had part, 
And all the mother claimed her heart. 
Forgot each rule her father gave, 
Sunk from a princess to a slave. 
Too late must Guendolen deplore. 
He, that has all, can hope no more ! 
Now must she see her lover strain, 
At every turn, her feeble chain ; 
Watch, to new-bind each knot, and 

shrink 
To view each fast-decaying link. 
Art she invokes to Nature's aid. 
Her vest to zone, her locks to braid ; 
Each varied pleasure heard her call. 
The feast, the tourney, and the ball : 
Her storied lore she next applies. 
Taxing her mind to aid her eyes : 
Now more than mortal wise, and then 
In female softness sunk again ; 
Now, raptured, with each wish comply- 
ing, 
With feigned reluctance now denying ; 
Each charm she varied, to retain 
A varying heart — and all in vain I 



"Thus in the garden's narrow bound. 
Flanked by some castle's Gothic round, 
Fain would the artist's skill provide. 
The limits of his realms to hide. 
The walks in labyrinths he twines. 
Shade after shade with skill combines, 
With many a varied flowery knot, 
And copse, and arbor, decks the spot. 
Tempting the hasty foot to stay. 
And linger on the lovely way, — 
Vain art ! vain hope ! 't is fruitless all ! 
At length we reach the bounding wall. 
And, sick of flower and trim-dressed tree, 
Long for rough glades and forest free. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



307 



"Three summer months had scantly 

flown, 
When Arthur, in embarrassed tone, 
Spoke of his liegemen and his throne ; 
Said, all too long had been his stay, 
And duties, which a Monarch sway. 
Duties, unknown to humbler men, 
Must tear her knight from Guendolen. — 
She listened silently the while. 
Her mood expressed in bitter smile ; 
Beneath her eye must Arthur quail. 
And oft resume the unfinished tale, 
Confessing, by his downcast eye, 
The wrong he sought to justify. 
He ceased. A moment muteshegazed, 
And then her looks to heaven she raised ; 
One palm her temples veiled, to hide 
The tear that sprung in spite of pride ; 
Xhe other for an instant pressed 
The foldings of her silken vest 1 



"At her reproachful sign and look, 
The hint the Monarch's conscience 

took. 
Eager he spoke, — ' No, lady, no ! 
Deem not of British Arthur so, 
Nor think he can deserter prove 
To the dear pledge of mutual love. 
I swear by sceptre and by sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That if a boy shall claim my care. 
That boy is born a kingdom's heir ; 
But, if a maiden Fate allows. 
To choose that maid a fitting spouse, 
A summer day in lists shall strive 
My knights, — the bravest knights 

alive. 
And he, the best and bravest tried. 
Shall Arthur's daughter claimfor bride. ' 
He spoke, with voice resolved and 

high, — 
The lady deigned him not reply. 



" At dawn of mom, ere on the brake 
His matins did a warbler make. 
Or stirred his wing to brush away 
A single dewdrop from the spray, 
Ere yet a sunbeam through the mist, 
The castle-battlements had kissed, 
The gates revolve, the drawbridge falls. 
And Arthur sallies from the walls. 



Doffed his soft garb of Persia's loom, 
And steel from spur to helmet-plume, 
His Libyan steed full proudly trode. 
And joyful neighed beneath his load. 
The Monarch gave a passing sigh 
To penitence and pleasures by. 
When, lo ! to his astonished ken 
Appeared the form of Guendolen. 

IX. 

" Beyond the outmost wall she stood, 
Attired like huntress of the wood : 
Sandaled her feet, her ankles bare. 
And eagle-plumage decked her hair ; 
Firm was her look, her bearing bold, 
And in her hand a cup of gold. 
' Thou goest ! ' she said, ' and ne'er 

again 
Must we two meet, in joy or pain. 
Full fain would I this hour delay. 
Though weak the wish, — yet wilt thou 

stay ? 
No 1 thou look'st forward. Still at- 
tend, — 
Part we like lover and like friend.' 
She raised the cup, — 'Not this the juice 
The sluggish vines of earth produce ; 
Pledge we, at parting, in the draught 
Which Genii love ! ' — she said and 

quaffed ; 
And strange unwonted lustres fly 
From her flushed cheek and sparkling 
eye. 

X. 

" The courteous Monarch bent him low, 
And, stooping down from saddlebow, 
Lifted the cup, in act to drink. — 
A drop escaped the goblet's brink, — 
Intense as liquid fire from hell, 
Upon the charger's neck it fell. 
Screaming with agony and fright, 
He bolted twenty feet upright, — 
The peasant still can show the dint, 
Where his hoofs lighted on the flint. 
From Arthur's hand the goblet flew ! 
Scattering a shower of fiery dew. 
That burned and blighted where it fell I 
The frantic steed rushed up the dell, 
As whistles from the bow the reed ; 
Nor bit nor rein could check his speed, 

Until he gained the hill ; 
Then breath and sinew failed apace, 
And, reeling from the desperate race. 

He stood, exhausted, still. 



3o8 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



The Monarch, breathless and amazed, 
Back on the fatal castle gazed, — 
Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, 
Darkening against the morning sky ; 
But.on the spot where once they frowned, 
The lonely streamlet brawled around 
A tufted knoll, where dimly shone 
Fragments of rock and rifted stone. 
Musing on this strange hap the while, 
The King wends back to fair Carlisle ; 
And cares, that cumber royal sway, 
Wore memory of the past away. 



" Full fifteen years and more were sped, 
Each brought new wreaths to Arthur's 

head. 
Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. 
The Saxons to subjection brought : 
Rython, the mighty giant, slain 
By his good brand, relieved Bretagne : 
The Pictish Gillamore in fight, 
And Roman Lucius, owned his might ; 
And wide were through the world re- 
nowned 
The glories of his Table Round. 
Each knight, who sought adventurous 

fame, 
To the bold court of Britain came, 
And all who suffered causeless wrong, 
Erom tyrant proud, or faitour strong, 
Sought Arthur's presence to complain, 
Nor there for aid implored in vain. 



" For this the King, with pomp and pride, 
Held solemn court at Whitsuntide, 

And summoned Prince and Peer, 
All who owed homage for their land, 
Or who craved knighthood from his 

hand, 
Or who had succor to demand, 

To come from far and near. 
At such high tide, were glee and game 
Mingled with feats of martial fame. 
For many a stranger champion came. 

In lists to break a spear ; 
And not a knight of Arthur's host, 
Save that he trod some foreign coast, 
But at this feast of Pentecost 
Before him must appear. 
Ah, Minstrels ! when the Table Round 
Arose, with all its warriors crowned. 
There was a theme for bards to sound 



In triumph to their string ! 
Five hundred years are past and gone, 
But Time shall draw his dying groan, 
Ere he behold the British throne 

Begirt with such a ring 1 



" The heraldsnamedtheappointed spot, 
As Caerleon or Camelot, 

Or Carlisle fair and free. 
At Penrith, now, the feast was set. 
And in fair Eamont's vale were met 

The flower of chivalry. 
There Galahad sat with manly grace, 
Yet maiden meekness in his face ; 
There Morolt of the iron mace. 

And love-lorn Tristrem there : 
And Dinadam with lively glance. 
And Lanval with the fairy lance. 
And Mordred with his look askance, 

Brunor and Bevidere. 
Why should I tell of numbers more? 
Sir Cay, Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, 

Sir Carodac the keen. 
The gentle Gawain's courteous lore. 
Hector de Mares and Pellinore, 
And Lancelot, that evermore 

Looked stol'n-wise on the Queen. 



" When wine and mirth did most abound. 
And harpers played their b) ithest round, 
A shrilly trumpet shook the ground, 

And marshals cleared the ring ; 
A maiden, on a palfrey white. 
Heading a band of damsels bright, 
Paced through the circle, to alight 

And kneel before the King. 
Arthur, with strong emotion, saw 
Her graceful boldness checked by awe. 
Her dress like huntress of the wold, 
Her bow and baldric trapped with gold. 
Her sandaled feet, her ankles bare. 
And the eagle-plume that decked her 

hair. 
Graceful her veil she backward flung, — 
The King, as from his seat he sprung, 

Almost cried, ' Guendolen !' 
But 't was a face more frank and wild. 
Betwixt the woman and the child. 
Where less of magic beauty smiled 

Than of the race of men ; 
And in the forehead's haughty grace, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



309 



The lines of Britain's royal race, 
Pendragon's you might ken. 



" Faltering, yet gracefully she said : — 
' Great Prince ! behold an orphan maid. 
In her departed mother's name, 
A father's vowed protection claim ! 
The vow was sworn in desert lone, 
In the deep valley of St. John.' 
At once the King the suppliant raised. 
And kissed her brow, her beauty 

praised ; 
His vow, he said, should well be kept, 
Ere in the sea the sun was dipped, — 
Then, conscious, glanced upon his 

queen : 
But she, unruffled at the scene 
Of human frailty, construed mild. 
Looked upon Lancelot and smiled. 



" ' Up I up ! each knight of gallant 
crest 
Take buckler, spear, and brand ! 
He that to-day shall bear him best, 

Shall win my Gyneth's hand. 
And Arthur's daughter, when a bride, 

Shall bring a noble dower ; 
Both fair Strath-Clyde and Reged wide. 

And Carlisle town and tower.' 
Then might you hear each valiant 
knight, 
To page and squire that cried, 
' Bring my armor bright, and my cour- 
ser wight : 
'Tis not each day that a warrior's 
might ^ 

May win a royal bride.' 
Then cloaks and caps of maintenance 

In haste aside they fling ; 
The helmets glance, and gleams the 
lance. 
And the steel-weaved hauberks ring. 
Small care had they of their peaceful 
array. 
They might gather it that wolde : 
For brake and bramble glittered gay, 
With pearls and cloth of gold. 



"Within trumpet sound of the Table 
Round 
Were fiftj champions free, 



And they all arise to fight that prize, — 

They all arise but three. 
Nor love's fond troth, nor wedlock** 
oath, 

One gallant could withhold. 
For priests will allow of a broken vow. 

For penance or for gold. 
But sigh and glance from ladies bright 

Among the troop were thrown, 
To plead their right, and true-love 
plight. 

And 'plain of honor flown. 
The knights they busied them so fast, 

With buckling spur and belt. 
That sigh and look, by ladies cast, 

Were neither seen nor felt. 
From pleading, or upbraiding glance, 

Each gallant turns aside. 
And only thought, ' If speeds my lance, 

A queen becomes my bride ! 
She hath fair Strath-Clyde, and Reged 
wide. 

And Carlisle tower and town ; 
She is the loveliest maid, beside. 

That ever heired a crown.' 
So in haste their coursers they bestride, 

And strike their visors down. 



"The champions, armed in martial 
sort, 

Have thronged into the list. 
And but three knights of Arthur's court 

Are from the tourney missed. 
And still these lovers' fame survives 

For faith so constant shown, — 
There were two who loved their neigh- 
bors' wives, 

And one who loved his own. 
The first was Lancelot de Lac, 

The second Tristrem bold. 
The third was valiant Carodac, 

Who won the cup of gold. 
What time, of all King Arthur's crew 

(Thereof came jeer and laugh), 
He, as the mate of lady true. 

Alone the cup could quaff. 
Though envy's tongue would fain sur- 
mise. 

That, but for very shame, 
Sir Carodac, to fight that prize. 

Had given both cup and dame ; 
Yet, since but one of that fair court 

Was true to wedlock's shrine. 



3IO 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



Brand him who will with base report, — 
He shall be free from mine. 



•' Now caracoled the steeds in air, 
Now plumes and pennons wantoned 

fair, 
As all around the lists so wide 
In panoply the champions ride. 
King Arthur saw, with startled eye, 
The flower of chivalry march by. 
The bulwark of the Christian creed. 
The kingdom's shield in hour of need. 
Too late he thought him of the woe 
Might from their civil conflict flow ; 
For well he knew they would not part 
Till cold was many a gallant heart. 
His hasty vow he 'gan to rue. 
And Gyneth then apart he drew ; 
To her his leading-staff resigned. 
But added caution grave and kind. 



" ' Thou seest, ray child, as promise- 
bound, 
I bid the trump for tourney sound. 
Take thou my warder as the queen 
And umpire of the martial scene ; 
But mark thou this:^ — as Beauty bright 
Is polar star to valiant knight, 
As at her word his sword he draws. 
His fairest guerdon her applause, 
So gentle maid should never ask 
Of knighthood vain and dangerous task ; 
And Beauty's eyes should ever be 
Like the twin stars that soothe the sea. 
And Beauty's breath shall whisper 

peace. 
And bid the storm of battle cease. 
I tell thee this, lest all too far 
These knights urge tourney into war. 
Blithe at the trumpet let them go. 
And fairly counter blow for blow ; — 
No striplings these, who succor need 
For a razed helm or falling steed. 
But, Gyneth, when the strife grows 

warm. 
And threatens death or deadly harm. 
Thy sire entreats, thy king commands. 
Thou drop the warder from thy hands. 
Trust thou thy father with thy fate. 
Doubt not he choose thee fitting mate : 
Nor be it said, through Gyneth's pride 
A rose of Arthur's chaplet died." 



" A proud and discontented glow 
O'ershadowed Gyneth's brow of snow ; 

She put the warder by : — 
'Reserve thy boon, my liege,' she said, 
' Thus chaffered down and limited, 
Debased and narrowed, for a maid 

Of less degree than I. 
No petty chief, but holds his heir 
At a more honored price and rare 

Than Britain's King holds me ! 
Although the sun-burned maid, foi 

dower, 
Has but her father's rugged tower, 

His barren hill and lea.' 
King Arthur swore, " By crown and 

sword. 
As belted knight and Britain's lord. 
That a whole summer's day should 

strive 
His knights, the bravest knights 

alive ! " — 
Recall thine oath ! and to her glen 
Poor Gyneth can return again ; 
Not on thy daughter will the stain, 
That soils thy sword and crown, re- 
main. 
But think not she will e'er be bride 
Save to the bravest, proved and tried : 
Pendragon's daughter will not fear 
For clashing sword or splintered spear, 

Nor shrink though blood should 
flow ; 
And all too well sad Guendolen 
Hath taught the faithlessness of men, 
That child of hers should pity, when 

Their meed they undergo.' 



" He frowned and sighed, the Monarch 

bold: — 
' I give — what I may not withhold ; 
For, not for danger, dread, or death, 
Must British Arthur break his faith. 
Too late I mark, thy mother's art 
Hath taught thee this relentless part. 
I blame her not, for she had wrong, 
But not to these my faults belong. 
Use, then, the warder as thou wilt ; 
But trust me that, if life be spilt. 
In Arthur's love, in Arthur's grace, . 
Gyneth shall lose a daughter's place.* 
With that he turned his head aside. 
Nor brooked to gaze upon her pride, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



3" 



As with the truncheon raised she sate 
The arbitress of mortal fate ; 
Nor brooked to mark, in ranks disposed, 
How the boldchampions stoodoj^osed, 
For shrill the trumpet-flourish fell 
Upon his ear like passing bell ! 
Then first from sight of martial fray 
Did Britain's hero turn away. 



" But Gyneth heard the clangor high, 
As hears the hawk the partridge cry. 
O blame her not 1 the blood was hers, 
Thatat thetrumpet'ssummons stirs ! — 
And e'en the gentlest female eye 
Might the brave strife of chivalry 

A while untroubled view ; 
So well accomplished was each knight. 
To strike and to defend in fight, 
Their meeting was a goodly sight, 

While plate and mail held true. 
The lists with painted plumes were 

strown, 
Upon the wind at random thrown. 
But helm and breastplate bloodless 

shone, 
It seemed their feathered crests alone 

Should this encounter rue. 
And ever, as the combat grows, 
The trumpet's cheery voice arose. 
Like lark's shri 11 song the flourish flows. 
Heard while the gale of April blows 

The merry greenwood through. 

XXIV. 

" But soon to earnest grew their game, 
The spears drew blood, the swords 

struck flame, 
And, horse and man, to ground there 
came 
Knights who shall rise no more ! 
Gone was the pride the war that graced. 
Gay shields were cleft and crests defaced, 
And steel coats riven, and helms un- 
braced. 
And pennons streamed with gore. 
Gone, too, were fence and fair array. 
And desperate strength made deadly 

way 
At random through the bloody fray. 
And blows were dealt with headlong 
sway. 
Unheeding where they fell ; 
And now the trumpet's clamors seem 



Like the shrill sea-bird's wailing scream. 
Heard o'er the whirlpool's gulfing 
stream. 
The sinking seaman's knell ! 



" Seemed in this dismal hour, that Fate 
Would Camlan's ruin antedate. 

And spare dark Mordred's crime ; 
Already gasping on the ground 
Lie twenty of the Table Round, 

Of chivalry the prime. 
Arthur, in anguish, tore away 
From head and beard his tresses gray, 
And she, proud Gyneth, felt dismay, 

And quaked with ruth and fear ; 
But still she deemed her mother's shade 
Hung o'er the tumult, and forbade 
The sign that had the slaughter stayed, 

And chid the rising tear. 
Then Brunor, Taulas, Mador, fell, 
Helias the White and Lionel, 

And many a champion more ; 
Rochemont and Dinadam are down, 
And Ferrand of the Forest Brown 

Lies gasping in his gore. 
Vanoc, by mighty Morolt pressed 
Even to the confines of the list, 
Young Vanoc of the beardless face 
( Fame spoke the youth of Merlin's race), 
O'erpowered at Gyneth's footstool bled. 
His heart's-blood dyed her sandals red. 
But then the sky was overcast, 
Then howled at once a whirlwind's 
blast. 

And rent by sudden throes, 
Yavvfned in mid lists the quaking earth. 
And from the gulf, — tremendous 
birth ! — 

The form of Merlin rose. 



" Sternly the Wizard Prophet eyed 
The dreary lists with slaughter dyed, 

And sternly raised his hand ; — 
'Madmen,' he said, ' your strife forbear! 
And thou, fair cause of mischief, hear 

The doom thy fates demand ! 
Long shall close in stony sleep 
Eyes for ruth that would not weep ; 
Iron lethargy shall seal 
Heart that pity scorned to feel. 
Yet, because thy mother's art 
Warped thine unsuspicious heart. 



3^2 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



And for love of Arthur's race, 
Punishment is blent with grace, 
Thou shalt bear thy penance lone 
In the valley of St. John, 
And this weird shall overtake thee ; 
Sleep until a knight shall wake thee, 
For feats of arms as far renowned 
As warrior of the Table Round. 
Long endurance of thy slumber 
Well may teach the world to number 
All their woes from Gyneth's pride, 
When the Red Cross champions died. 



" As Merlin speaks, on Gyneth's eye 
Slumber's load begins to lie ; 
Fear and anger vainly strive 
Still to keep its light alive. 
Twice, with effort and with pause, 
O'er her brow her hand she draws ; 
Twice her strength in vain she tries, 
From the fatal chair to rise ; 
Merlin's magic doom is spoken, 
Vanoc's death must now be wroken. 
Slow the dark-fringed eyelids fall, 
Curtaining each azure ball, 
Slowly as on summer eves 
Violets close their dusky leaves. 
The weighty baton of command 
Now bears down her sinking hand. 
On her shoulder droops her head ; 
Net of pearl and golden thread. 
Bursting, gave her locks to flow 
O'er her arm and breast of snow. 
And so lovely seemed she there, 
Spellbound in her ivory chair. 
That her angry sire, repenting, 
Craved stem Merlin for relenting. 
And the champions, for her sake, 
Would again the contest wake ; 
Till, in necromantic night, 
Gyueth vanished from their sight. 

XXVIII. 

" Still she bears her weird alone, 

In the valley of St. John ; 

And her semblance oft will seem. 

Mingling in a champion's dream. 

Of her weary lot to 'plain, 

And crave his aid to burst her chain. 

While her wondrous tale was new. 

Warriors to her rescue drew, 

East and west, and south and north. 

From the Liffy, Thames,and Forth. 



Most have sought in vaia tlia gl*n, 
Tower nor castle could tbey ken ; 
Not at every time or tide. 
Nor by every eye, descried. 
Fast and vigil must be borne. 
Many a night in watching worn. 
Ere an eye of mortal powers 
Can discern those magic towers. 
Of the persevering few, 
Some from hopeless task withdrew, 
When they read the dismal threat 
Graved upon the gloomy gate. 
Few have braved the yawning door, 
And those few returned no more. 
In the lapse of time forgot, 
Wellnigh lost is Gyneth's lot ; 
Sound her sleep as in the tomb, 
Till wakened by the trump of doom.'< 

End of Lyiilph^ s Tale. 

Here pause, my tale ; for all too soon. 
My Lucy, comes the hour of noo»i. 
Already from thy lofty dome 
Its courtly inmates 'gin to roam. 
And each, to kill the goodly day 
That God has granted them, his way 

Of lazy sauntering has sought ; 
Lordlings and witlings not a few, 

Incapable of doing aught. 
Yet ill at ease with naught to do. 
Here is no longer place fcr me ; 
For, Lucy, thou wouldst blush to see 

Some phantom, fa.shionably thin, 

With limb of lath s^nd ki^rchiefed 
chin. 

And lounging gape, or sneering grin, 
Steal sudden on our privacy. 
And how should I, so humbly bom. 
Endure the graceful spectre's scorn ? 
Faith ! ill, I fear, while conjuring wand 
Of English oak is hard at hand. 



Or grant the hour be all too soon 
For Hessian boot and pantaloon. 
And grant the lounger seldom strays 
Beyond the smooth and gravelled maze. 
Laud we the gods, that Fashion's train 
Holdsheartsofmoreadventurousstrain, 
Artists are hers, who scorn to tr?ce 
Their rules from Nature's boundless 

grace. 
But their right paramount assert 
To limit her by pedant art^ 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



313 



Damning whate'er of vast and fair 
Exceeds a canvas three feet square. 
This thicket, for their gumption fit, 
May furnish such a happy bit. 
Bards, too, are hers, wont to recite 
Their own sweet lays by waxen light, 
Half in the salver's tingle drowned, 
While the chasse-ca/e glides around ; 
And such may hither secret stray. 
To labor an extempore : 
Or sportsman, with his boisterous hollo. 
May here his wiser spaniel follow. 
Or stage-struck Juliet may presume 
To choose this bower for tiring-room ; 
And we alike must shun regard, 
From painter, player, sportsman, bard. 
Insects that skim in Fashion's sky, 
Wasp, blue-bottle, or butterfly, 
Lucy, have all alarms for us. 
For all can hum and all can buzz. 



But O, my Lucy, say how long 
We still must dread this trifling throng, 
And stoop to hide, with coward art, 
The genuine feelings of the heart ! 
No parents thine, whose just command 
Should rule their child's obedient hand ; 
Thy guardians, with contending voice, 
Press each his individual choice. 
And which is Lucy's ? — Can it be 
That puny fop, trimmed cap-a-pie, 
Who loves in the saloon to show 
The arms that never knew a foe ; 
Whose sabre trails along the ground, 
Whose legs in shapeless boots are 

drowned ; 
Anew Achilles, sure, — the steel 
Fled from his breast to fence his heel : 
One, for the simple manly grace 
That wont to deck our martial race, 
Who comes in foreign trashery 

Of tinkling chain and spur, 
A walking haberdashery. 

Of feathers, lace, and fur : 
In Rowley's antiquated phrase, 
Horse-milliner of modern days ? 



Or is it he, the wordy youth, 

So early trained for statesman's part. 

Who talks of honor, faith and truth, 
As themes that he has got by heart ; 



Whose ethics Chesterfield can teach, 
Whose logic is from Single-speech ; 
Whoscornsthe meanestthoughttovent, 
Save in the phrase of Parliament ; 
Who, in a tale of cat and mouse, 
Calls "order,"and " dividesthe house," 
Who "craves permission to reply," 
Whose " noble friend is in his eye " ; 
Whose loving tender some have reck- 
oned 
A motion^ you should gladly second ? 



What, neither? Can there be a third, 
To such resistless swains preferred? — 
O why, my Lucy, turn aside, 
With that quick glance of injured pride? 
Forgive me, love, I cannot bear 
That altered and resentful air. 
Were all the wealth of Russel mine. 
And all the rank of Howard's line. 
All would I give for leave to dry 
That dewdrop trembling in thine eye. 
Think not I fear such fops can wile 
From Lucy more than careless smile ; 
But yet if wealth and high degree 
Give gilded counters currency, 
Must I not fear, when rank and birth 
Stamp the pure ore of genuine worth? 
Nobles there are, whose martial fires 
Rival the fame that raised their sires. 
And patriots, skilled through storms of 

fate 
To guide and guard the reeling state. 
Such, such there are. — If such should 

come, 
Arthur must tremble and be dumb. 
Self-exiled seek some distant shore, 
And mourn till life and grief are o'er. 



What sight, what signal of alarm, 
That Lucy clings to Arthur's arm ? 
Or is it, that the rugged way 
Makes Beauty lean on lover's stay? 
O no ! for on the vale and brake. 
Nor sight nor sounds of danger wake, 
And this trim sward of velvet green 
Were carpet for the Fairy Queen. 
That pressure slight was but to tell. 
That Lucy loves her Arthur well. 
And fain would banish from his mind 
Suspicious fear and doubt unkind. 



314 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



But wouldst thou bid the demons fly 
Like mist before the dawning sky, 
There is but one resistless spell, — 
Say, wilt thou guess, or must I tell ? 
'T were hard to name, in minstrel 

phrase, 
A landaulet and four blood-bays, 
But bards agree this wizard band 
Can but be bound in Northern land. 
'T is there, — nay, draw not back thy 

hand ! — 
'T is there this slender finger round 
Must golden amulet be bound, 
Which, blessed with many a holy prayer, 
Can change to rapture lovers' care, 
And doubt and jealousy shall die. 
And fears give place to ecstasy. 



Now, trust me, Lucy, all too long 
Has been thy lover's tale and song. 
O, why so silent, love, I pray ? 
Have I not spoke the livelong day ? 
And will not Lucy deign to say 

One word her friend to bless ? 
} ask but one, — a simple sound, 
Within three little letters bound, 

O let the word be YES ! 

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO 
THIRD, 



Long loved, long wooed, and lately won. 
My life's best hope, and now mine own ; 
Doth not this rude and Alpine glen 
Recall our favorite haunts again ? 
A wild resemblance we can trace, 
Though reft of every softer grace, 
As the rough warrior's brow may bear 
A likeness to a sister fair. 
Full well advised our Highland host, 
That this wild pass on foot be crossed. 
While round Ben-Cruach's mighty base 
Wheel the slow steeds and lingering 

chase. 
The keen old carle, with Scottish pride, 
He praised his glen and mountains wide; 
An eye he bears for nature's face, 
Ay, and for woman's lovely grace. 
Even in such mean degree we find 
The subtle Scot's observing mind ; 



For, nor the chariot nor the train 
Could gape of vulgar wonder gain. 
But when old Allan would expound 
Of Beal-na-paish the Celtic sound. 
His bonnet doffed, and bow, applied 
His legend to my bonny bride ; 
While Lucy blushed beneath his eye, 
Courteousand cautious, shrewd and sly. 



Enough of him. — Now, ere we lose. 
Plunged in the vale, the distant views. 
Turn thee, my love ! look back once 

more 
To the blue lake's retiring shore. 
On its smooth breast the shadows seem 
Like objects in a morning dream. 
What time the slumberer is aware 
He sleeps, and all the vision 's air : 
Even so, on yonder liquid lawn, 
In hues of bright reflection drawn, 
Distinct the shaggy mountains lie, 
Distinct the rocks, distinct the sky ; 
The summer-clouds so plain we note. 
That we might count each dappled spot ; 
We gaze and we admire, yet know 
The scene is all delusive show. 
Such dreamsof blisswould Arthur draw, 
When first his Lucy's form he saw ; 
Yet sighed and sickened as he drew, 
Despairing they could e'er prove true 1 



But, Lucy, turn thee now to view, 

Up the fair glen, our destined way ; 
The fairy path that we pursue. 
Distinguished but by greener hue, 

Winds round the purple brae. 
While Alpine flowers of varied dye 
For carpet serve, or tapestry. 
See how the little runnels leap. 
In threads of silver, down the steep, 

To swell the brooklet's moan ! 
Seems that the Highland Naiad grievee, 
Fantastic while her crown she weaves, 
Of rowan, birch, and alder leaves. 

So lovely, and so lone. 
There 's no illusion there ; these flowerSf 
That wailing brook, theselovely bowers, 

Are, Lucy, all our own ; 
And, since thine Arthur called thee wife, 
Such seems the prospect of his life, 
A lovely path, on-winding still, 
By gurgling brook and sloping hill. 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



315 



T IS true, thaC mortals cannot tell 
What waits them iu the distant dell ; 
But be it hap, or be it harm, 
We tread the pathway arm in arm. 

IV. 

And now, my Lucy, wot'st thou why 
1 could thy bidding twice deny. 
When twice you prayed I would again 
Resume the legendary strain 
Of the bold knight of Triermain ? 
At length yon peevish vow you swore, 
That you would sue to me no more, 
Until the minstrel fit drew near, 
And made me prize a listening ear. 
But, loveliest, when thou first didst pray 
Continuance of the knightly lay, 
Was it not on the happy day 

That made thy hand mine own .'' 
When, dizzied with mine ecstasy. 
Naught past, or present, or to be, 
Could I or think on, hear, or see, 

Save, Lucy, thee alone ! 
A giddy draught my rapture was, 
As ever chemist's magic gas. 

V. 

Again the summons I denied 
In yon fair capital of Clyde : 
My Harp, — or let me rather choose 
The good old classic form, — my Muse, 
(For Harp 's an o^er-scutched phrase 
Worn out by bards of modern days). 
My Muse, then, — seldom will she wake, 
Save by dim wood and silent lake ; 
She is the wild and rustic Maid, 
Whose foot unsandaled loves to tread 
Where the soft greensward is inlaid 

With varied moss and thyme ; 
And, lest the simple lily-braid. 
That coronets her temples, fade, 
,5he hides her still in greenwood shade, 

To meditate her rhyme. 

VI. 

And now she comes ! The mnrmur dear 
Cf the wild brook hath caught her ear, 

The glade hath won her eye ; 
She longs to join with each blithe rill 
That dances down the Highland hill. 

Her blither melody. 
And now, my Lucy's way to cheer, 
She bids Ben-Cruach's echoes hear 
How closed the tale, my love whilere 

Loved for its chivalry. 



List how she tells, in notes of flame, 
" Child Roland to the dark tower came ! " 

CANTO THIRD. 



Bewcastle now must keep the Hold, 

Speir Adam's steeds must bide in 
stall, 
Of Hartley-burn the bowmen bold 

Must only shoot from battled wall ; 
And Liddesdale may buckle spur. 

And Teviot now may belt the brand, 
Tarras and Ewes keep nightly stir, 

And Eskdale foray Cumberland. 
Of wasted fields and plundered flocks 

The Borderers bootless may com" 
plain ; 
They lack the sword of brave De Vaux, 

There comes no aid from Triermain. 
That lord, on high adventure bound. 

Hath wandered forth alone. 
And day and night keeps watchful 
round 

Li the Valley of St. John. 



When first began his vigil bold. 
The moon twelve summer nights was 
old, 

And shone both fair and full ; 
High in the vault of cloudless blue. 
O'er streamlet, dale, and rock, she 
threw 

Her light composed and cool. 
Stretched on the brown hill's heathy 
breast, 

Sir Roland eyed the vale ; 
Chief where, distinguished from the rest. 
Those clustering rocks upreared their 

crest. 
The dwelling of the fair distressed. 

As told gray Lyulph's tale. 
Thus as he lay, the lamp of night 
Was quivering on his armor bright. 

In beams that rose and fell, 
And danced upon his buckler's boss. 
That lay beside him on the moss, 

As on a crystal well. 



Ever he watched, and oft he deemed. 
While on the mound the moonlight 
streamed. 



s-e 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



It altered to his eyes ; 
Fain would he hope the rocks 'gan 

change 
To buttressed walls their shapeless 

range, 
Fain think, by transmutation strange, 

He saw gray turrets rise. 
But scarce his heart with hope throbbed 

high, 
Before the wild illusions fly. 

Which fancy had conceived. 
Abetted by an anxious eye 

That longed to be deceived. 
It was a fond deception all. 
Such as, in solitary hall, 

Beguiles the musing eye. 
When, gazing on the sinking ire. 
Bulwark, and battlement, and spire, 

In the red gulf we spy. 
For, seen by moon of middle night. 
Or by the blaze of noontide bright, 
Or by the dawn of morning light, 

Or evening's western flame. 
In every tide, at every hour, 
In mist, in sunshine, and in shower. 

The rocks remained the same. 



Oft has he traced the charmed mound. 
Oft climbed its crest, or paced it round. 

Yet nothing might explore. 
Save that the crags so rudely piled. 
At distance seen, resemblance wild 

To a rough fortress bore. 
Yet still his watch the Warrior keeps, 
Feedshardandspare, and seldom sleeps, 

And drinks but of the well ; 
Ever by day he walks the hill. 
And when the evening gale is chill. 

He seeks a rocky cell. 
Like hermit poor to bid his bead. 
And tell his Ave and his Creed, 
Invoking every saint at need. 

For aid to burst his spell. 



And now the moon her orb has hid. 
And dwindled to a silver thread. 

Dim seen in middle heaven. 
While o'er its curve careering fast, 
Before the fury of the blast 

The midnight clouds are driven. 
The brooklet raved, for on the hills 
The upland showers had swoln the rills, 



And down the torrents came ; 
Muttered the distant thunder dread. 
And frequent o'er the vale was spread 

A sheet of lightning flame. 
De Vaux, within his mountain cave, 
(No human step the storm durst brave,) 
To moody meditation gave 

Each faculty of soul. 
Till, lulled by distant torrent sound, 
And the sad winds that whistled round. 
Upon his thoughts, in musing drowned, 

A broken slumber stole. 



'T was then was heard a heavy sound, 
(Sound, strange and fearful there to 
hear, 
'Mongst desert hills, where, leagues 
around. 
Dwelt but the gorcock and the deer :) 
As, starting from his couch of fern, 
Again he heard in clangor stern, 

That deep and solemn swell, — 

Twelve times, in measured tone, it spoke. 

Like some proud minster's pealing 

clock. 

Or city's larum-bell. 

What thought was Roland's first whtn 

fell. 
In that deep wilderness, the knell 

Upon his startled ear ? 
To slander warrior were I loath. 
Yet must I hold my minstrel troth, — ' 
It was a thought of fear. 



But lively was the mingled thrill 
That chased that momentary chill. 

For Love's keen wish was there. 
And eager Hope, and Valor high, 
And the proud glow of Chivalry, 

That burned to do and dare. 
Forth from the cave the Warrior rushed. 
Long ere the mountain-voice was 
hushed. 

That answered to the knell ; 
For long and far the unwonted sound, 
Eddying in echoes round and round, 

Was tossed from fell to fell ; 
And Glaramara answer flung. 
And Grisdale-pike responsive rung. 
And Legbert heights their echoes 
swung. 

As far as Derwent's delL 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



3*7 



Forth upon trackless darkness gazed 
The Knight, bedeafened and amazed, 

Till all was hushed and still, 
Save the swoln torrent's sullen roar, 
And the night-blast that wildly bore 

Its course along the hill. 
Then on the northern sky there came 
A light, as of reflected flame, 

And over Legbert-head, 
As if by magic art controlled, 
A mighty meteor slowly rolled 

Its orb of fiery red ; 
Thou wouldst have thought some demon 

dire 
Came mounted on that car of fire, 

To do his errand dread. 
Far on the sloping valley's course. 
On thicket, rock, and torrent hoarse. 
Shingle and Scrae, and Fell and Force, 

A dusky light arose ; 
Displayed, yet altered was the scene ; 
Dark rock, and brook of silver sheen, 
Even the gay thicket's summer green, 

In bloody tincture glows. 



De Vaux had marked the sunbeams set. 
At eve, upon the coronet 

Of that enchanted mound. 
And seen but crags at random flung, 
That, o'er the brawling torrent hung. 

In desolation frowned. 
What sees he by that meteor's lour? — 
A bannered Castle, keep, and tower. 

Return the lurid gleam, 
With battled walls and buttress fast. 
And barbican and ballium vast, 
And airy flanking towers, that cast 

Their shadows on the stream. 
'T is no deceit ! distinctly clear 
Crenell and parapet appear. 
While o'er the pile that meteor drear 

Makes momentary pause ; 
Then forth its solemn path it drew, 
And fainter yet and fainter grew 
Those gloomy towers upon the view. 

As its wild light withdraws. 



Forth from the cave did Roland rush. 
O'er crag and stream, through brier and 
bush ; 



Yet far he hrtd not sped. 
Ere sunk was that portentous light 
Behind the hills, and utter night 

Was on the valley spread. 
Hfc paused perforce, and blew his horn 
And, on the mountain-echoes borne. 

Was heard an answering sound, 
A wild and lonely trumpet note, — 
In middle air it seemed to float 

High o'er the battled mound ; 
And sounds were heard, as when a guard 
Of some proud castle, holding v/ard. 

Pace forth their nightly round. 
The valiant Knight of Triermain 
Rung forth his challenge-blast again. 

But answer came there none ; 
And 'mid the mingled wind and rain, 
Darkling he sought the vale in vain, 

Until the dawning shone : 
And when it dawned, that wondrous 

sight 
Distinctly seen by meteor light, 

It all had passed away ! 
And that enchanted mount once more 
A pile of granite fragments bore. 

As at the close of day. 



Steeled for the deed, De Vaux's heart 
Scorned from hisventurousquest topart. 

He walks the vale once more ; 
But only sees, by night or day. 
That shattered pile of rocks sc gray, 

Hears but the torrent's roar. 
Till when, through hills of azure borne^ 
The moon renewed her silver horn. 
Just at the time her waning ray 
Had faded in the dawning day, 

A summer mist arose ; 
Adown the vale the vapors float 
And cloudy undulations moat 
That tufted mound of mystic note. 

As round its base they close. 
And higher now the fleecy tide 
Ascends its stern and shaggy side. 
Until the airy billows hide 

The rock's majestic isle : 
It seemed a veil of filmy lawn. 
By some fantastic fairy drawn 

Around enchanted pile. 



The breeze came softly down the brook, 
And, sighing as it blew. 



3i8 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



The veil of silver mist it shook, 
And to De Vaux's eager look 

Renewed that wondrous view. 
For, though the loitering vapor braved 
The gentle breeze, yet oft it waved 

Its mantle's dewy fold ; 
And still, when shook that filmy screen. 
Were towers and bastions dimly seen, 
And Gothic battlements between 

Their gloomy length unrolled. 
Speed, speed, De Vaux, ere on thine 

eye 
Once more the fleeting vision die ! 

The gallant knight 'gan speed 
As prompt and light as, when the hound 
Is opening, and the horn is wound, 

Careers the hunter's steed. 
Down the steep dell his course amain 

Hath rivalled archer's shaft ; 
But ere the mound he could attain. 
The rocks their shapeless form regain, 
And, mocking loud his labor vain, 

The mountain spirits lauglied. 
Far up the echoing dell was borne 
Their wild unearthly shout of scorn. 

XIII. 

Wroth waxed the Warrior. — " Am I 

then 
Fooled by the enemies of men. 
Like a poor hind, whose homeward way 
Is haunted by malicious fay ? 
Is Triermain become your t?.unt, 
De Vaux your scorn.? False fiends, 

avaunt ! " 
A weighty curtal-axe he bare ; 
The baleful blade so bright and square, 
And the tough shaft of heben wood. 
Were oft in Scottish gore imbrued. 
Backward his stately form he drew. 
And at the rocks the weapon threw. 
Just where one crag's projected crest 
Hung proudly balanced o'er the rest. 
Hurled with main force, the weapon's 

shock 
Rent a huge fragment of the rock. 
If by mere strength, 't were hard to teH, 
Or if the blow dissolved some spell. 
But down the headlong ruin came. 
With clouds of dust and flash of flame, 
Down bank, o'er bush, its course was 

borne, 
Crushed lay the copse, the earth was 

torn, 



Till, stayed at length, the ruin dread 
Cumbered the torrent's rocky bed, 
And bade the waters' high-swoln tide 
Seek other passage for its pride. 



When ceased that thunder, Triermain 
Surveyed the mound's rude front again ; 
And, lo ! the ruin had laid bare. 
Hewn in the stone, a winding stair. 

Whose mossedandfracturedsteps might 

lend 
The means the summit to ascend ; 
And by whose aid the brave De Vaux 
Began to scale these magic rocks, 

And soon a platform won. 
Where, the wild witchery to close, 
Within three lances' length arose 

The Castle of St. John ! 
No misty phantoms of the air, 
No meteor-blazoned show was there ; 
In morning splendor, full and fair, 

The massive fortress shone. 

XV. 

Embattled high and proudly towered. 
Shaded by pond'rous flankers, lowered 

The portal's gloomy way. 
Though for six hundred years and more, 
Its strength had brooked the tempest's 

roar, 
The scutcheoned emblems which it bore 

Had suffered no decay ; 
But from the eastern battlement 
A turret had made sheer descent. 
And, down in recent ruin rent, 

In the mid torrent lay. 
Else, o'er the Castle's brow sublime, 
Insults of violence or of time 

Unfelt had passed away. 
In shapeless characters of yore. 
The gate this stern inscription bore ■' — 

XVI. 

INSCRIPTION. 

" Patience waits the destined day. 
Strength can clear the cumbered way 
Warrior, who hast waited long. 
Firm of soul, of sinew strong, 
It is given to thee to fjaze 
'^)n the pile of ancient days. 
Never monal builder's i:and 
TJms eodunng fahrip planned ; 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



319 



Sign and sigil, word of power. 
From the earth raised keep and tower. 
View it o'er, and pace it round, 
Rampart, turret, battled mound. 
Dare no more ! To cross the gate 
Were to tamper with thy fate ; 
Strength and fortitude were vain, 
View it o'er, — and turn again." — 



"That would I," saidthe Warrior bold, 
" If that my frame were bent and old, 
And my thin blood dropped slow and 
cold 
As icicle in thaw ; 
But while my heart can feel it dance, 
Blithe as the sparkling wine of France, 
And this good arm wields sword or 
lance, 
I mock these words of awe ! " 
He said ; the wicket felt the sway 
Of his strong hand, and straight gave 

way. 
And, with rude crash and jarring bray, 

The rusty bolts withdraw ; 
But o'er the threshold as he strode. 
And forward took the vaulted road. 
An unseen arm, with force amain. 
The ponderous gate flung close again, 

And rusted bolt and bar 
Spontaneous took their place once 

more, 
While the deep arch with sullen roar 

Returned their surly jar. 
" Now closed is the gin and the prey 
within 
By the Rood of Lanercost ! 
But he that would win the war-wolPs 
skin. 
May rue him of his boast." 
Thus muttering, on the Warrior went, 
By dubious light down steep descent, 

xvrii. 

Unbarred, unlocked, unwatched, a port 
Led to the Castle's outer court : 
There the main fortress, broad and tall, 
Spread its long range of bower and hall, 

And towers of varied size. 
Wrought with each ornament extreme, 
That Gothic art, in wildest dream 

Of fancy, could devise ; 
But full between the Warrior's way 
And the main portal arch, there lay 



An inner moat ; 
Nor bridge nor boat 
Affords De Vaux the means to cross 
The clear, profound, and silent fosse. 
His arms aside in haste he flings. 
Cuirass of steel and hauberk rings. 
And down falls helm, and down the 

shield, 
Rough with the dints of many a field. 
Fair was his manly form, and fair 
His keen dark eye, and close curled 

hair, 
When, all unarmed, save that the brand 
Of well-proved metal graced his hand. 
With naught to fence Ins dauntless 

breast 
But the close gipon's under-vest. 
Whose sullied bufl:"the sable stains 
Of hauberk and of mail retains, — 
Roland De Vaux upon the brim 
Of the broad moat stood prompt to swim. 



Accoutred thus he dared the tide, 
And soon he reached the farther side, 

And entered soon the Hold, 
And paced a hall, whose walls so wide 
Were blazoned all with feats of pride, 

By warriors done of old. 
In middle lists they countered liere, 

While trumpets seemed to blow; 
And there, in den or desert drear, 

They quelled gigantic foe, 
Braved the fierce griffon in his ire, 
Or faced the dragon's breath of fire. 
Strange in their arms, and strange in 

face. 
Heroes they seemed of ancient race, 
Whose deeds of arms, and race, and 

name. 
Forgotten long by later fame, 

Were here depicted, to appall 
Those of an age degenerate. 
Whose bold intrusion braved their fate 

In this enchanted hall. 
For some short space, the venturous 

knight 
With these high marvels fed his sight. 
Then sought the chamber's upper end, 
Where three broad easy steps ascend 

To an arched portal door. 
In whose broad folding leaves of state 
Was framed a wicket window-grate. 

And ere he ventured more. 



320 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



The gallant Knight took earnest view 
The grated wicket-window through. 



O, for his arms ! Of martial weed 
Had never mortal Knight such need ! — 
He spied a stately gallery ; all 
Of snow-white marble was the wall, 

The vaulting, and the floor ; 
And, contrast strange ! on either hand 
There stood arrayed in sable band 

Four Maids whom Afric bore ; 
And each a Libyan tiger led, 
Held by as bright and frail a thread 

As Lucy's golden hair, 
For the leash that bound these monsters 
dread 

Was but of gossamer. 
Each jNIaiden's short barbaric vest 
Left all unclosed the knee and breast, 

And limbs of shapely jet ; 
White was their vest and turban's fold, 
On arms and ankles rings of gold 

In savage pomp were set ; 
A quiver on their shoulders lay, 
And in their hand an assagay. 
Such and so silent stood they there, 

That Roland wellnigh hoped 
He saw a band of statues rare. 
Stationed the gazer's soul to scare ; 

But, when the wiclcet oped. 
Each grisly beast 'gan upward draw. 
Rolled his grim eye, and spread his 

claw. 
Scented the air, and licked his jaw ; 
While these weird Maids, in Moorish 

tongue, 
A wild and dismal warning sung. 



" Rash Adventurer, bear thee back ! 

Dread the spell of Dahomay 1 
Fear the race of Zaharak, 

Daughters of the burning day ! 

"When the whirlwind's gusts are 
wheelins:, 

Ours it is the dance to braid ; 
Zarah's sands in pillars reeling. 

Join the measure that we tread. 
When the Moon has donned her cloak, 

And the stars are red to see. 
Shrill when pipes the sad Siroc, 

Music meet for such as we. 



" Where the shattered columns lie, 

Showing Carthage once had been, 
If the wandering Santon's eye 

Our mysterious rites hath seen, — 
Oft he cons the prayer of death, 

To the nations preaches doom, 
' Azrael's brand hath left the sheath I 

Moslems, think upon the tomb ! ' 

" Ours the scorpion, ours the snake, 

Ours the hydja of the fen, 
Ours the tiger of the brake. 

All that plague the sons of men. 
Ours the tempest's midnight wrack, 

Pestilence that wastes by day, — 
Dread the race of Zaharak ! 

Fear the spell of Dahomay ! " 



Uncouth and strange the accents shrill 

Rung those vaulted roofs among, 
Long it was ere, faint and still, 

Died the far-resounding song. 
While yet the distant echoes roll. 
The Warrior communed with his soul. 
" When first I took this venturous 
quest, 
I swore upon the rood, 
Neither to stop, nor turn, nor rest, 

For evil or for good. 
My forward path too well I ween 
Lies yonder fearful ranks between ; 
For man unarmed, 't is bootless hope 
With tigers and with fiends to cope, — 
Yet, if I turn, what waits me there. 
Save famine dire and fell despair? — 
Other conclusion let me try, 
Since, choose howe'er I list, I die. 
Forward, lies faith and knightly fame ; 
Behind, are perjury and shame. 
In life or death I hold my word ! " 
With that he drew his trusty sword. 
Caught down a banner from the wall, 
And entered thus the fearful hall. 



On high each wayward Maiden threw 
Her swarthy arm, with wild halloo ! 
On either side a tiger sprung, — 
Against the leftward foe he flung 
The ready banner, to engage 
With tangling folds the brutal rage ; 
The right-hand monster in mid air 
He struck so fiercely and so fair, 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



331 



Through gullet and through spinal bone, 
The trenchant blade hath sheerly gone. 
His grisly brethren ramped and yelled, 
But the slight leash their rage withheld, 
Whilst, 'twixt their ranks, the dangerous 

road 
Firmly, though swift, the champion 

strode. 
Safe to the gallery's bound he drew, 
Safe passed an open portal through ; 
And when against pursuit he flung 
The gate, judge if the echoes rung ! 
Onward his daring course he bore. 
While, mixed with dying growl and 

roar. 
Wild jubilee and loud hurra 
Pursued him on his venturous way. 



" Hurra, hurra ! Our watch is done ! 
We hail once more the tropic sun. 
Pallid beams of northern day. 
Farewell, Farewell ! Hurra, hurra ! 

" Five hundred years o'er this cold glen 
Hath the pale sun come round again ; 
Foot of man, till now, hath ne'er 
Dared to cross the Hall of Fear. 

" Warrior ! thou, whose dauntless heart 
Giyes us from our ward to part, 
Be as strong in future trial, 
Where resistance is denial. 

" Now for Afric's glowing sky, 
Zwenga wide and Atlas high, 
Zaharak and Dahomay ! — 
Mount the winds 1 Hurra, hurra ! " 

^xxv. 

The wizard song at distance died, 

As if in ether borne astray, 
While through waste halls and cham- 
bers wide 

The Knight pursued his steady way. 
Till to a lofty dome he came. 
That flashed with such a brilliant flame. 
As if the wealth of all the world 
Were there in rich confusion hurled. 
For here the gold in sandy heaps, 
With duller earth incorporate, sleeps ; 
Was there in ingots piled, and there 
Coined badge of empery it bare ; 
Yonder, huge bars of silver lay, 



Dimmed by the diamond's neighboring 

ray. 
Like the pale moon in morning day ; 
And in the midst four Maidens stand, 
The daughters of some distant land. 
Their hue was of the dark red dye. 
That fringes oft a thunder sky ; 
Their hands palmetto baskets bare. 
And cotton fillets bound their hair ; 
Slim was their form, their mien was shy, 
To earth they bent the humbled eye, 
Folded their arms, and suppliant 

kneeled, 
And thus their proffered gifts revealed. 

XXVI. 
CHORUS. 

" See the treasures Merlin piled. 
Portion meet for Arthur's child. 
Bathe in Wealth's unbounded stream, 
Wealth that Avarice ne'er • could 
dream ! " 

FIRST MAIDEN. 

" See these clots of virgin gold I 
Severed from the sparry mould, 
Nature's mystic alchemy 
In the mine thus bade them lie ; 
And their orient smile can win 
Kings to stoop, and saints to sin." — 

SECOND MAIDEN. 

" See these pearls, that long have slept ; 
These were tears by Naiads wept 
For the loss of Marinel. 
Tritons in the silver shell 
Treasured them, till hard and white 
As the teeth of Amphitrite." — 

THIRD MAIDEN. 

" Does a livelier hue delight? 
Here are rubies blazing bright. 
Here the emerald's fairy green. 
And the topaz glows between ; 
Here their varied hues unite, 
In the changeful chrysolite." — 

FOURTH MAIDEN. 

" Leave these gems of poorer shine, 
Leave them all, and look on mine 1 
While their glories I expand. 
Shade thine eyebrows with thy hand 
Midday sun and diamond's blaze 
Blind the rash beholder's gaze." -^ 



322 



THE BRIDAL OF TRJERMAIN. 



" Warrior, seize the splendid store ; 
Would 't were all our mountains bore ! 
We should ne'er in future story, 
Read, Peru, thy perished glory ! " 



Calmly and unconcerned, the Knight 
Waved aside the treasures bright — 
" Gentle Maidens, rise, I pray ! 
Bar not thus my destined way. 
Let these boasted brilliant toys 
Braid the hair of girls and boys ! 
Bid your streams of gold expand 
O'er proud London's thirsty land. 
De Vaux of wealth saw never need. 
Save to purvey him arms and steed. 
And all the ore he deigned to hoard 
Inlays his helm, and hilts his sword." — 
Thus gently parting from their hold. 
He left, unmoved, the dome of gold. 



And now the morning sun was high, 
De Vaux was weary, faint, and dry : 
When, lo ! a plashing sound he hears, 
A gladsome signal that he nears 

Some frolic water-run ; 
And soon he reached a court-yard square, 
Where, dancing in the sultry air. 
Tossed high aloft, a fountain fair 

Was sparkling in the sun. 
On right and left, a fair arcade. 
In long perspective view displayed 
Alleys and bowers, for sun or shade : 
But, full in front, a door. 
Low-browed and dark, seemed as it led 
To the lone dwelling of the dead. 

Whose memory was no more. 



Here stopped De Vaux an instant's' 

space, 
To bathe his parched lips and face. 

And marked with well pleased eye. 
Refracted on the fountain stream, 
In rainbow hues the dazzling beam 

Of that gay summer sky. 
His senses felt a mild control. 
Like that which lulls the weary soul. 

From contemplation high 
Relaxing, when the ear receives 
The music that the greenwood leaves 

Make to the breezes' sigh. 



And oft in such a dreamy mood. 

The half-shut eye can frame 
Fair apparitions in the wood 
As if the Nymphs of field and flood 

In gay procession came. 
Are these of such fantastic mould. 

Seen distant down the fair arcade. 
These Maids enlinked in sister-fold. 

Who, late at bashful distanca 
stayed, 

Now tripping from the greenwood 
shade. 
Nearer the musing champion draw, 
And, in a pause of seeming awe, 

Again stand doubtful now? — 
Ah, that sly pause of witching powers ! 
That seems to say, " To please be ours. 

Be yours to tell us how." 
Their hue was of the golden glow 
That suns of Candahar bestow. 
O'er which in slight suffusion flows 
A frequent tinge of paly rose ; 
Their limbs were fashioned fair and free. 
In nature's justest symmetry ; 
And, wreathed with flowers, with odors 

graced. 
Their raven ringlets reached the waist ; 
In eastern pomp, its gilding pale 
The hennah lent each shapely nail. 
And the dark sumah gave the eye 
More liquid and more lustrous dye. 
The spotless veil of misty lawn. 
In studied disarrangement, drawn 

The form and bosom o'er, 
To win the eye, or tempt the touch. 
For modesty showed all too much, — 

Too much, — yet promised more. 



" Gentle Knight, awhile delay," 
Thus they sung, " thy toilsome way. 
While we pay the duty due 
To our Master and to you. 
Over Avarice, over Fear, 
Love triumphant led thee here ; 
Warrior, list to us, for we 
Are slaves to Love, are friends to thet 
Though no treasured gems have we. 
To proffer on the bended knee. 
Though we boast nor arm nor heart. 
For the assagay or dart. 
Swains allow each simple girl 
Ruby lip and teeth of pearl ; 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIER MA IN: 



323 



Or, if dangers more you prize, 
Flavterers find them in our eyes. 

*' Stay, then, gentle Warrior, stay, 
Rest till evening steal on day ; 
Stay, O, stay ! — in yonder bowers 
We will braid thy locks with flowers, 
Spread the feast and fill the wine, 
Charm thy ear with sounds divine, 
Weave our dances till delight 
Yield to languor, day to night. 
Then shall she you most approve 
Sing the lays that best you love, 
Soft thy mossy couch shall spread, 
Watch thy pillow, prop thy head, 
Till the weary night be o'er, — 
Gentle Warrior, wouldst thou more ? 
Wouldst thou more, fair Warrior, — she 
Is slave to Love and slave to thee." 



O do not hold it for a crime 
In the bold hero of my rhyme. 

For Stoic look, 

And meet rebuke. 
He lacked the heart or time ; 
As round the band of sirens trip, 
He kissed one damsel's laughing Up, 
And pressed another's proffered hand, 
Spoke to them all in accents bland, 
But broke their magic circle through ; 
" Kind Maids," he said, " adieu, adieu ! 
My fate, my fortune, forward lies." 
He said, and vanished from their eyes ; 
But, as he dared that darksome way. 
Still heard behind their lovely lay : 
" Fair Flower of Courtesy, depart ! 
Go, where the feelings of the heart 
With the warm pulse in concord move ; 
Go, where Virtue sanctions Love ! 



Downward De Vaux through dark- 
some ways 
And ruined vaults has gone. 
Till issue from their wildered maze, 

Or safe retreat, seemed none, — 
And e'en the dismal path he strays 
Grew worse as he went on. 
For cheerful sun, for living air. 
Foul vapors rise and mine-fires glare. 
Whose fearful light the dangers showed 
I'hat dogged him on that dreadful road. 



Deep pits, and lakes of waters dun, 
They showed, but showed not how to 

shun. 
These scenes of desolate despair. 
These smothering clouds of poisoned 

air, 
How gladly had De Vaux exchanged. 
Though 't were toface yon tigers ranged ! 

Nay, sooth ful bards have said. 
So perilous his state seemed now, 
He wished him under arbor bough 

With Asia's willing maid. 
When, joyful sound ! at distance near 
A trumpet flourished loud and cleary 
And as it ceased, a lofty lay 
Seemed thus to chide his lagging way. 



" Son of Honor, theme of story, 
Think on the reward before ye ! 
Danger, darkness, toil despise ; 
'T is Ambition bids thee rise. 

" He that would her heights ascend, 
Many a weary step must wend ; 
Hand and foot and knee he tries ; 
Thus Ambition's minions rise. 

" Lag not now, though rough the way, 
Fortune's mood brooks no delay ; 
Grasp the boon that 's spread before ye. 
Monarch's power, and Conqueror's 
glory ! " 

It ceased. Advancing on the sound, 
A steep ascent the wanderer found, 

And then a turret stair : 
Nor climbed he far its steepy round 

Till fresher blew the air, 
And next a welcome glimpse was given, 
I'hat cheered him with the light of 
heaven. 

At length his toil had won 
A lofty hall with trophies dressed 
Where as to greet imperial guest. 
Four Maidens stood, whose crimson 
vest 

Was bound with golden zone. 



Of Europe seemed the damsels all ; 
The first a nymph of lively Gaul, 
Whose easy step and laughing eye 
Her borrowed air of awe belie ; 



324 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



The next a maid of Spain, 
Dark-eyed, dark-haired, sedate, yet 

bold; 
White ivory skin and tress of gold, 
Her shy and bashful comrade told 

For daughter of Almaine. 
These maidens bore a royal robe, 
With crown, with sceptre, and with 
globe. 

Emblems of empery : 
The fourth a space behind them stood, 
And leant upon a harp, in mood 

Of minstrel ecstasy. 
Of merry England she, in dress 
Like ancient British Druidess, 
Her hair an azure fillet bound. 
Her graceful vesture swept the ground. 

And in her hand displayed, 
A crown did that fourth Maiden hold. 
But unadorned with gems of gold, 

Of glossy laurel made. 



At once to brave De Vaux knelt down 

These foremost Maidens three. 
And proffered sceptre, robe, and crown, 

Liegedom and seignorie, 
O'er many a region wide and fair, 
Destined, they said, for Arthur's heir ; 

But homage would he none : — 
"Rather," he said, "De Vaux would 

ride, 
A Warden of the Border side, 
In plate and mail, than, robed in pride, 

A monarch's empire own ; 
Rather, far rather, would he be 
A free-born knight of England free, 

Than sit on Despot's throne," 
So passed he on, when that fourth Maid, 

As starting from a trance. 
Upon the harp her finger laid ; 
Her magic touch the chords obeyed, 

Their soul awaked at once ! 

SONG OF THE FOURTH MAIDEN. 

" Quake to your foundations deep, 
Stately Towers, and Bannered Keep, 
Bid your vaulted echoes moan, 
As the dreaded step they own. 

" Fiends, that wait on Merlin's spell, 
Hear the footfall ! mark it well ! 
Spread your dusky wings abroad, 
Boune ye for your homeward road ! 



" It is His, the first who e'er 
Dared the dismal Hall of Fear ; 
His, who hath the snares defied 
Spread by Pleasure, Wealth, and 
Pride. 

'* Quake to your foundations deep, 
Bastion huge, and Turret steep ! 
Tremble, Keep ! and totter, lower 1 
This is Gyneth's waking hour." 



Thus while she sung, the adventuroi 

Knight 
Has reached a bower where milder ligl 

Through crimson curtains fell ; 
Such softened shade the hill receives, 
Her purple veil when twilight leaves 

Upon its western swell. 
That bower, the gazer to bewitch. 
Had wondrous store of rare and rich 

As e'er was seen with eye ; 
For there by magic skill, I wis. 
Form of each thing that living is 

Was limned in proper dye. 
All seemed to sleep, — the timid hare 
On form, the stag upon his lair, 
The eagle in her eyrie fair 

Between the earth and sky. 
But what of pictured rich and rare 
Could win DeVaux's eye-glance, where. 
Deep slumbering in the fatal chair, 

He saw King Arthur's child I 
Doubt, and anger, and dismay. 
From her brow had passed away, 
Forgot was that fell tourney-day. 

For, as she slept, she smiled : 
It seemed that the repentant Seer 
Her sleep of many a hundred year 

With gentle dreams beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

The form of maiden loveliness, 

'Twixt childhood and 'twixt youth, 
That ivory chair, that sylvan dress. 
The arms and ankles bare, express 

Of Lyulph's tale the truth. 
Still upon her garment's hem 
Vanoc's blood made purple gem, 
And the warder of command 
Cumbered still her sleeping hand ; 
Still her dark locks dishevelled flow 
From net of pearl o'er breast of snow ; 



THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. 



325 



And so fair the slumberer seems, 
That De Vaux impeached his dreams, 
Vapid all and void of might, 
Hiding half her charms from sight. 
Motionless awhile he stands, 
Folds his arms and clasps his hands. 
Trembling in his fitful joy, 
Doubtful how he should destroy 

Long-enduring spell ; 
Doubtful, too, when slowly rise 
Dark-fringed jids of Gyneth's eyes, 

What these eyes shall tell. — 
" St. George ! St. Mary ! can it be. 
That they will kindly look on me ! " 



Gently, lo ! the Warrior kneels, 
Soft that lovely hand he steals. 
Soft to kiss, and soft to clasp, — 
But the warder leaves her giasp ; 
Lightning flashes, rolls the thunder ! 
Gyneth startles from her sleep. 
Totters Tower and trembles Keep, 

Burst the Castle walls asunder ! 
Fierce and frequent were the shocks, — 

Melt the magic halls away ; 
But beneath their mystic rocks, 
In the arms of bold De Vaux, 

Safe the princess lay ; 
Safe and free from magic power. 
Blushing like the rose's flower 

Opening to the day ; 
And round the Champion's brows were 

bound 
The crown that Druidess had wound, 

Of the green laurel-bay. 
And this was what remained of all 
The wealth pf each enchanted hall. 

The Garland and the Dame : 
But where should Warrior seek the 

meed. 
Due to high worth for daring deed. 

Except from Love and Fame ! 

CONCLUSION. 

I. 

My Lucy, when the Maid is won. 
The Minstrel's task, thou know'st, is 
done ; 

And to require of bard 
That to his dregs the tale should run 

Were ordinance too hard. 



Our lovers, briefly be it said. 
Wedded as lovers wont to wed. 

When tale or play is o'er ; 
Lived long and blest, loved fond and 

true. 
And saw a numerous race renew 

The honors that they bore. 
Know, too, that when a pilgrim strays. 
In morning mist or evening maze, 

Along the mountain lone. 
That fairy fortress often mocks 
His gaze upon the castled rocks 

Ofthe Valley of St. John; 
But never man since brave De Vaux 

The charmed portal won. 
'T is now a vain illusive show. 
That melts whene'er the sunbeams 
glow. 

Or the fresh breeze hath blown. 



But see, my love, where far below 
Our lingering wheels are moving slow. 

The whiles, up-gazing still. 
Our menials eye our steepy way ; 
Marvelling, perchance, what whim can 

stay 
Our steps, when eve is sinking gray, 

On this gigantic hill. 
So think the vulgar, — Life and time 
Ring all their joys in one dull chime 

Of luxury and ease ; 
And O, beside these simple knaves. 
How many better born are slaves 

To such coarse joys as these, — 
Dead to the nobler sense that glows 
When nature's grander scenes unclose I 
But, Lucy, we will love them yet. 
The mountain's misty coronet, 

The greenwood, and the wold ; 
And love the more, that of their maze 
Adventure high of other days 

By ancient bards is told. 
Bringing, perchance, like my poor tale, 
Some moral truth in fiction's veil : 
Nor love them less, that o'er the 

hill 
The evening breeze, as now, comes 
chill ; — 

My love shall wrap her warm. 
And fearless of the slippery way. 
While safe she trips the heathy brae, 

Shall hang on Arthur's arm. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this Poem, that it was com- 

Eosed hastily, and during a short tour upon the Continent, when the Author's la 
ors were liable to frecjuent interruption ; but its best apology is, that it was written 
for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription. 



Abbotsford, 1815. 



Fair Brussels, thou art far behind. 
Though, lingering on the morning wind. 

We yet may hear the hour 
Pealed over orchard and canal. 
With voice prolonged and measured fall. 

From proud St. Michael's tower; 
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds usnow, 
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough 

For many a league around, 
With birch and darksome oak between. 
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen, 

Of tangled forest ground. 
Stems planted close by stems defy 
The adventurous foot, — the curious 
eye 

For access seeks in vain ; 
And the brown tapestry of leaves, 
Strewed on the blighted ground, re- 
ceives 

Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. 
No opening glade dawns on our way, 
No streamlet, glancing to the ray. 

Our woodland path has crossed ; 
And the straight causeway which we 

tread 
Prolongs a line of dull arcade, 
Unvarying through the unvaried shade 

Until in distance lost. 



A brighter, livelier scene succeeds ; 
In groups the scattering wood recedes. 
Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny 

meads. 
And cornfields glance between ; 



The peasant, at his labor blithe. 
Plies the hooked staff and shortened 
scythe : — 

But when these ears were green, 
Placed close within destruction's scope, 
Full little was that rustic's hope 

Their ripening to have seen ! 
And, lo, a hamlet and its fane : — 
Let not the gazer with disdain 

Their architecture view ; 
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine, 
And disproportioned spire, are thine, 

Immortal Waterloo ! 



Fear not the heat, though full and 

high 
The sun has scorched the autumn sky, 
And scarce a forest straggler now 
To shade us spreads a greenwood 

bough ; 
These fields have seen a hotter day 
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray. 
Yet one mile on, — yon shattered hedge 
Crests the soft hill whose long smooth 
ridge 

Looks on the field below, 
And sinks so gently on the dale. 
That not the folds of Beauty's veil 

In easier curves can flow. 
Brief space from thence, the ground 

again 
Ascending slowly from the plain. 

Forms an opposing screen. 
Which, with its crest of upland ground, 
Shuts the horizon all around. 

The softened vale between 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



327 



Slopes smooth and fair for courser's 

tread : 
Not the most timid maid need dread 
To give her snow-white palfrey head 

On that wide stubble-ground ; 
Norwood, nor tree, nor bush, are there, 
Her course to intercept or scare. 

Nor fosse nor fence are found. 
Save where, from out her shattered 

bowers, 
Rise Hougomont's dismantled towers. 

IV. 

Now, seest thou aught in this lone scene 
Can tell of that which late hath been ? — 

A stranger might reply, 
"The bare extent of stubble-plain 
Seems lately hghtened of its grain ; 
And yonder sable tracks remain 
Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain, 

When harvest-home was nigh. 
On thesebroad spots oftrampledground, 
Perchance the rustics danced such round 

As Teniers loved to draw ; 
And where the earth seems scorched 

by flame, 
To dress the homely feast they came. 
And toiled the kerchiefed village dame 

Around her fire of straw." 



bo deem'st thou, — so each mortal 

deems. 
Of that which is from that which 
seems : — 

But other harvest here, 
Than that which peasant's scj'the de- 
mands. 
Was gathered in by sterner hands. 

With bayonet, blade, and spear. 
No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, 
No stinted harvest thin and cheap ! 
Heroes before each fatal sweep 

Fell thick as ripened grain ; 
And ere thedarkening of the day, 
Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay 
The ghastly harvest of the fray, 

The corpses of the slain. 



Ay, look again, — that line, so black 
And trampled, marks the bivouac. 
Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's 
track, 



So often lost and won ; 
And close beside, the hardened mud 
Stillshowswhere, fetlock-deep in blood. 
The fierce dragoon, through battle's 
flood. 

Dashed the hot war-horse on. 
These spots of excavation tell 
The ravage of the bursting shell. — 
And feel'st thou not the tainted steam, 
That reeks against the sultry beam. 

From yonder trenched mound ? 
The pestilential fumes declare 
That Carnage has replenished there 

Her garner-house profound. 

VII. 

Far other harvest-home and feast, 
Than claims the boor from scythe re- 
leased. 

On these scorched fields were 
known ! 
Death hovered o'er the maddening rout, 
And, in the thrilling battle-shout, 
Sent for the bloody banquet out 

A summons of his own. 
Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye 
Could well each destined guest espy. 
Well could his ear in ecstasy 

Distinguish every tone 
That filled the chorus of the fray — 
From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray. 
From charging squadrons' wild hurra. 
From the wild clang that marked their 
way, — 

Down to the dymg groan. 
And the last sob of life's decay. 

When breath was all but flown. 



Feast on, stern foe of mortal life. 
Feast on ! — but think not that a strife. 
With such promiscuous carnage rife, 

Protracted space may last : 
The deadly tug of war at length 
Must limits find in human strength. 

And cease when these are past. 
Vain hope ! — that morn's o'erclouded 

sun 
Heard the wild shout of fight begun 

Ere he attained his height. 
And through the war-smoke, volumed 

high. 
Still peals that unremitted cry. 

Though now he stoops to night 



328 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



For ten long hours of doubt and dread, 
Fresh succors from the extended head 
Of either hill the contest fed ; 

Still down the slope they drew, 
The charge of columns paused not, 
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; 

For all that war could do 
Of skill and force was proved that day, 
And turned not yet the doubtful fray 

On bloody. Waterloo. 



Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were 

thine. 
When ceaseless from the distant line 

Continued thunders came ! 
Each burgher held his breath, to hear 
These forerunners of havoc near, 

Of rapine and of flame. 
What ghastly sights were thine to meet. 
When rolling through thy stately street, 
The wounded showed their mangled 

plight 
In token of the unfinished fight. 
And from each anguish-laden wain 
The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain ! 
How often in the distant drum 
Heard'st thou the fell Invader come. 
While Ruin, shouting to his band. 
Shook high her torch and gorybrand ! — 
Cheer thee, fair City ! From yon stand. 
Impatient, still his outstretched hand 

Points to his prey in vain. 
While maddening in his eager mood. 
And all unwont to be withstood, 

He fires the fight again. 



" On ! On ! " was still his stem exclaim ; 
" Confront the battery's jaws of flame ! 

Rush on the levelled gun ! 
My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! 
Each Hulan forward with his lance. 
My Guard, — my Chosen, — charge for 
France, 

France and Napoleon ! " 
Loud answered their acclaiming shout. 
Greeting the mandate which sent out 
Their bravest and their best to dare 
The fate their leader shunned to share. 
But He, his country's sword and shield, 
Still in the battle-front revealed. 
Where danger fiercest swept the field, 



Came like a beam of light. 
In action prompt, in sentence brief, — 
" Soldiers, stand firm ! " e.xclaimed the 
Chief, 

" England shall tell the fight ! " 



On came the whirlwind, — like the last 
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast, — 
On came the whirlwind, — steel-gleams 

broke 
Like lightning through the rolling 

smoke ; 
The war was waked anew. 
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared 

loud, 
And from their throats, with flash and 

cloud. 
Their showers of iron threw. 
Beneath their fire, in full career. 
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier, 
The lancer couched his ruthless spear. 
And hurrying as to havoc near, 

The cohorts' eagles flew. 
In one dark torrent, broad and strong. 
The advancing onset rolled along. 
Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim. 
That, from the shroud of smoke and 

flame. 
Pealed wildly the imperial name. 



But on the British heart were lost 
The terrors of the changing host : 
For not an eye the storm that viewed 
Changed its proud glance of fortitude, 
Nor was one forward footstep stayed, 
As dropped the dying and the dead. 
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear. 
Fast they renewed each serried square ; 
And on the wounded and the slain 
Closed their diminished files again. 
Till from theirline scarce spears' lengths 

three. 
Emerging from the smoke they see 
Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — 

Then waked their fire at once 1 
Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
As fast, as regularly fell. 
As when they practise to display 
Their discipline on festal day. 

Then down went helm and lance, 
Down were the eagle banners sent, 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



329 



Down reeling steeds and riders went, 
Corslets were pierced, and pennons 

rent; 
And, to augment the fray, 
Wheeled full against their staggering 

flanks, 
The English horsemen's foaming ranks 

Forced their resistless way. 
Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
The clash of swords, — the neigh of 

steeds, — 
As plies the smith his clanging trade, 
Against the cuirass rang the blade ; 
And while amid their close array 
The well-served cannon rent their way. 
And while amid their scattered band 
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand. 
Recoiled in common rout and fear. 
Lancer and guard and cuirassier, 
Horseman and foot, — a mingled host 
Theirleaders fallen, their standards lost. 



Then, Wellington ! thy piercing eye 
This crisis caught of destiny, — 

The British host had stood 
That morn 'gainst charge of sword and 

lance 
As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, 
But when thy voice had said " Ad- 
vance ! " 

They were their ocean's flood. — 
O Thou, whose inauspicious aim 
Hath wrought thy host this hour of 

shame, 
Think'st thou thy broken bands will 

bide 
The terrors of yon rushing tide? 
Or will thy chosen brook to feel 
The British shock of levelled steel, 

Or dost thou turn thine eye 
Where coming squadrons gleam afar. 
And fresher thunders wake the war. 

And other standards fly ? — 
Think not that in yon columns file 
Thy conquering troops from Distant 
Dyle,— 

Is Blucher yet unknown ? 
Or dwells not in thy memory still, 
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,) 
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill 

In Prussia's trumpet tone ? — 
What yet remains ? — shall it be thine 
To head the relics of thy line 



In one dread effort more? — 
The Roman lore thy leisure loved. 
And thou canst tell what fortune proved 

That Chieftain, who, of yore. 
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed, 
And with the gladiators' aid 

For empire enterprised. — 
He stood the cast his rashness playedj 
Left not the victims he had made, 
Dug his red grave with his own blade. 
And on the field he lost was laid, 

Abhorred, — but not despised. 



But if revolves thy fainter thought 
On safety, — howsoever bought, — 
Then turn thy fearful rein and ride. 
Though twice ten thousand men have 
died 

On this eventful day. 
To gild the military fame 
Which thou, for life, in traffic tame 

Wilt barter thus away. 
Shall future ages tell this tale 
Of inconsistence faint and frail ? 
And art thou He of Lodi's bridge, 
Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge ! 

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, 
That, swelled by winter storm and show- 
er. 
Rolls down in turbulence of power, 

A torrent fierce and wide ; 
Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, 
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor. 

Whose channel shows displayed 
The wrecks of its impetuous course. 
But not one symptom of the force 

By which these wrecks were made 1 



Spur on thy way ! — since now thine ear 
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear. 

Who, as thy flight they eyed. 
Exclaimed, — while tears of anguish 

came, 
Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and 
shame, — 

" O that he had but died ! " 
But yet, to sum this hour of ill. 
Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill. 

Back on yon broken ranks, — 
Upon that wild confusion gleams 
The moon, as on the troubled streams 

When rivers break their banks, 



330 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



And to the ruined peasant's eye, 
Objects half seen roll swiftly by, 

Down the dread current hurled, — 
So mingle banner, wain, and gun, 
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on 
Of warriors, who, when mom begun, 

Defied a banded world. 



List, — frequent to the hurrying rout, 
The stern pursuers' vengeful shout 
Tells, that upon their broken rear 
Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. 

So fell a shriek was none, 
When Beresina's icy flood 
Reddened and thawed with flame and 

blood. 
And, pressing on thy desperate way, 
Raised oft and long their wild hurra. 

The children of the Don. 
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft 
So ominous, when, all bereft 
Of aid, the valiant Polack left — 
Ay, left by thee — found soldier's grave 
In Leipsic's corpse-encumbered wave. 
Fate, in those various perils past. 
Reserved thee still some future cast ; 
On the dread die thou now has thrown. 
Hangs not a single field alone. 
Nor one campaign, — thy martial fame. 
Thy empire, dynasty, and name, 

Have felt the final stroke ; 
And now, o'er thy devoted head 
The last stem vial's wrath is shed, 

The last dread seal is broke. 



Since live thou wilt, — refuse not now 
Before these demagogues to bow, 
Late objects of thy scorn and hate, 
Who shall thy once imperial fate 
Make wordy theme of vain debate. — 
Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low 
In seeking refuge from the foe, 
Against whose heart, in prosperous life, 
Thine hand hath ever held the knife ? 

Such homage hath been paid 
By Roman and by Grecian voice. 
And there were honor in the choice. 

If it were freely made. 
Then safely come, — in one so low, — 
So lost, — we cannot own a foe ; 
Though dear experience bids us end, 
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend. — 



Come, howsoe'er, — but do not hide 
Close in thy heart that germ of pride- 
Erewhile, by gifted bard espied, 

That " yet imperial hope " ; 
Think not that for a fresh rebound. 
To raise ambition from the ground, 

We yield thee means or scope. 
In safety come, — but ne'er again 
Hold type of independent reign ; 

No islet calls thee lord. 
We leave thee no confederate band, 
No symbol of thy lost command, 
To be a dagger in the hand 

From which we wrenched the sword- 



Yet, even in yon sequestered spot. 
May worthier conquest be thy lot 

Than yet thy life has known : 
Conquest, unbought by blood or harm. 
That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, 

A triumph all thine own. 
Such waits thee when thou shalt control 
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, 

That marred thy prosperous 
scene : — 
Hear this, — from no unmoved heart. 
Which sighs, comparing what thou art 

With what thou might'st have 

BEEN ! 

XIX. 

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame re- 
newed. 
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude. 
To thine own noble heart must owe 
More than the meed she can bestow. 
For not a people's just acclaim. 
Not the full hail of Europe's fame. 
Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree. 
The ducal rank, the gartered knee, 
Not these such pure delight afford 
As that, when hanging up thy sword. 
Well may'st thou think, " This honest 

steel 
Was eve? drawn for public weal ; 
And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, 
Ne'er sheathed unless with victory ! " 

XX. 

Look forth, once more, with softened 

heart, 
Ere from the field of fame we part ; 
Triumph and Sorrow border near, 
And joy oft melts into a tear. 



THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



331 



Alas f what links of love that morn 
Has War's rude hand asunder torn ! 
For ne'er was field so sternly fought, 
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought. 
Here piled in common slaughter sleep 
Those whom affection long shall weep ; 
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall 

strain 
His orphans to his heart again ; 
The son, whom, on his native shore, 
The parent's voice shall bless no more ; 
The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed 
His blushing consort to his breast ; 
The husband, whom through many a 

year 
Long love and mutual faith endear. 
Thou canst not name one tender tie, 
Rut here dissolved its relics lie ! 
Oh ! when thou seest some mourner's 

veil 
Shroud her thin form and visage pale. 
Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears 
.Stream wlffen the stricken drum she 

hears : 
Or seest how manlier grief, suppressed, 
1 s laboring in a father's breast, — 
With no inquiry vain pursue 
The cause, but think on Waterloo ! 



Period of honor as of woes, 

What bright careers 't was thine to 

close ! 
Marked on thy roll of blood what 

names 
To Briton's memory, and to Fame's, 
Laid there their last immortal claims I 
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire 
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire, — 
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie 
All that of PoNSONBV could die, — 
De Lancev change Love's bridal- 
wreath, 
For laurels from the hand of Death, — 
Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye 
Still bent where Albion's banners fly. 
And Cameron, in the shock of steel. 
Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; 
And generous Gordon, 'mid the strife, 
Fall while he watched hisleader's life. — 
Ah ! though her guardian angel's shield 
Fenced Britain's hero through the field, 



Fate not the less her power made 

known. 
Through his friends' hearts to pierce 

his own 1 



Forgive, brave dead, the imperfect lay ! 
Who may your names, your numbers, 

say? 
What high-strung harp, what lofty line. 
To each the dear-earned praise assign. 
From highborn chiefs of martial fame 
To the. poor soldier's lowlier name ? 
Lightly ye rose that dawning day 
From your cold couch of swamp and 

clay. 
To fill, before the sun was low, 
The bed that morning cannot know. — 
Oft may the tear the green sod steep, 
And sacred be the heroes' sleep, 

Till time shall cease to run ; 
And ne'er beside their noble grave. 
May Briton pass and fail to crave 
A blessing on the fallen brave 

Who fought with Wellington I 



Farewell, sad Field ! whose blighted 

face 
Wears desolation's withering trace ; 
Long shall my memory retain 
Thy shattered huts and trampled grain. 
With every mark of martial wrong, 
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougo- 

mont ! 
Yet though thy garden's green arcade 
The marksman's fatal post was made, 
Though on thy shattered beeches fell 
The blended rage of shot and shell, 
Though from thy blackened portals 

torn. 
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, 
Has not such havoc bought a name 
Immortal in the rolls of fame? 
Yes, — Agincourt may be forgot. 
And Cressy be an unknown spot. 

And Blenheim's name be new ; 
But still in story and in song. 
For many an age remembered long. 
Shall live the towers of Hougomout, 

And Field of Waterloo. 



332 THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 



CONCLUSION. 

Stem tide of human Time ! that know'st not rest, 
But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, 
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast 
Successive generations to their doom ; 
While thy capacious stream has equal room 
For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamers sport. 
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom. 
The fisher skiff, and barge that bears a court. 
Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ; — 

Stern tide of Time ! through what mysterious change 
Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven 1 
For ne'er before, vicissitude so strange 
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. 
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, 
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, 
Such fearful strife as that where we have striven. 
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, 
Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow. 

Well hast thou stood, my Country ! — the brave fight 
Hast well maintained through good report and ill ; 
In thy just cause and in thy native might, 
And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still ; 
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill 
Of half the world agamst thee stood arrayed, 

, Or when, with better views and freer will. 
Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, 

Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. 

Well art thou now repaid, — though slowly rose, 
And struggled long with mists, thy blaze of fame, 
While like the dawn that in the orient glows 
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came ; ^ 

Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame. 
And Maida's myrtles gleamed beneath its ray. 
Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame. 
Rivalled the heroes of the watery way, 
And washed in foemen's gore unjust reproach away. 

Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, 
And bid the banner of thy Patron flow. 
Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, 
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe. 
And rescued innocence from ovsrthrow, 
And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might. 
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show 
The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, 
Who quelled devouring pride, and vindicated right 

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown. 

Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired, . 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 333 

Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down : 
'T is not alone the heart with valor fired, 
The discipline so dreaded and admired. 
In many a field of bloody conquest "known ; 
— Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired ; — 
'T is constancy in the good cause alone. 
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Thbrk is a mood of mind we all have known, 
On drowsy eve, or dark and lowering day. 
When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone. 
And naught can chase the lingering hours away. 
Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. 
And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain. 
Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay. 
Nor dare we of our listless load complain. 
For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain? 

The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood. 
When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain, 
Clouding that morn which threats the heathcock's brood ; 
Of such, in summer's drought, the anglers plain, 
Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; 
But, more than all, the discontented fair, 
Whom father stern, and sterner aunt, restrain 
From county ball, or race occurring rare. 
While all her fi"iends around their vestments gay prepare. 

Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee, Spleen I 
To thee we owe full many a rare device : — 
Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, 
The rolling billiard ball, the rattling dice. 
The turning lathe for framing gimcrack nice ;_ 
The amateur's blotched pallet thou mayst claim. 
Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice, 
(Murders disguised by philosophic name,) 
And much of trifling grave, and much of buxom game; 

Then of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance 

Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote I 

Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — 

But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote. 

That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; 

And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, ' 



334 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

Delicious dreams inspiring by his note, 
What time to indolence his harp he strung ; — 
O, might my lay be ranked that happier list among I 

Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. 
For me, I love my study fire to trim. 
And con right vacantly some idle tale, 
Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 
Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim. 
And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme ; 
While antique shapes of knight and giant grim, 
Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam. 
And the Romancer's tale becomes the Reader's dream. 

'T is thus my malady I well may bear. 
Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel, 
Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; 
And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell 
In old romaunts of errantry that tell. 
Or later legends of the fairy folk, 
Or oriental tale of Afrite fell, 
Of Genii, Talisman, and broad-winged Roc, 
Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock. 

Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsought 
Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; 
The which, as things unfitting graver thought. 
Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. 
These few survi,ve, — and proudly let me say. 
Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his frown ; 
They well may serve to while an hour away, 
Nor does the volume ask for more renown 
Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down. 

CANTO FIRST. 

I. 

List to the valorous deeds that were done 

By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son I 

Count Witikind came of a regal strain. 

And roved with his Norsemen the land and the main. 

Woe to the realms which he coasted ! for there 

Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair, 

Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest. 

Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : 

When he hoisted his standard black. 

Before him was battle, behind him wrack. 

And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane, 

To light his band to their barks again. 

n. 

On Erin's shores was his outrage known. 
The winds of France had his banners blown ; 
Little was there to plunder, yet still 
His pirates had forayed on Scottish hill : 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 335 

But upon merry England's coast 

More frequent he sailed, for he won the most. 

So wide and so far his ravage they knew, 

If a sail but gleamed white 'gainst the welkin blue, 

Trumpet and bugle to arms did call, 

Burghers hastened to man the wall. 

Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape, 

Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, 

Bells were tolled out, and aye as they rung. 

Fearful and faintly the gray brothers sung, 

" Bless us, St. Mary, from flood and from fire, 

From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's ire I " 



He liked the fair wealth of fair England so well, 

That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. 

He entered the Humber in fearful hour. 

And disembarked with his Danish power._ 

Three earls came against him with all their train, - 

Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. 

Count Witikind left the Humber's rich strand, 

And he wasted and warred in Northumberland ; 

But the Saxon King was a sire in age, 

Weak in battle, in council sage ; 

Peace of that heathen leader he sought, 

Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 

And the Count took upon him the peaceable style 

Of a vassal and liegeman of Briton's broad isle. 



Time will rust the sharpest sword. 
Time will consume the strongest cord ; 
That which moulders hemp and steel, 
Mortal arm and nerve must feel. 
Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikind led. 
Many waxed aged, and many were dead : 
Hirnself found his armor full weighty to bear. 
Wrinkled his brows grew and hoary his hair ; 
He leaned on a staff when his step went abroad, 
And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. 
As he .grew feebler, his wildness ceased, 
He made himself peace with prelate and priest. 
Made his peace, and, stooping his head. 
Patiently listed the counsel they said : 
Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave. 
Wise and good was the counsel he gave. 

V. 

" Thou hast murdered, robbed, and spoiled. 
Time it is thy poor soul were assoiled ; 
Priest didst thou slay, and churches bum. 
Time it is now to repentance to turn ; 
Fiends hast thou worshipped, with fiendish rite. 
Leave now the darkness, and wend into light : 



336 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

O, while life and space are given, 

Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven ! " 

That stern old heathen his head he raised, 

And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; 

*' Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, 

My faith I will leave, and I '11 cleave unto thine," 

VI. 

Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, 

To be held of the church by bridle and spear. 

Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part, 

To better his will and to soften his heart : 

Count Witikind was a joyful man. 

Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. 

The high church of Durham is dressed for the day, 

The clergy are ranked in their solemn array ; 

There came the Count in a bear-skin warm, 

Leaning on Hilda his concubine's arm. 

He kneeled before Saint Cuthbert's shrine, 

With patience unwonted at rites divine ; 

He abjured the gods of heathen race. 

And he bent his head at the font of grace. 

But such was the grisly old proselyte's look, 

That the priest who baptized him grew pale and shook; 

And the old monks muttered beneath their hood, 

" Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good ! " 



Up then arose that grim convertite. 
Homeward he hied him when ended the rite ; 
The Prelate in honor will with him ride, 
And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. 
Banners and banderols danced in the wind. 
Monks rode before them, and spearmen behind : 
Onward they passed till fairly did shine 
Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne ; 
And full in front did that fortress lower, 
In darksome strength with its buttress and tower ; 
At the castle gate was young Harold there. 
Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 



Young Harold was feared for his hardihood. 

His strength of frame, and his fury of mood. 

Rude he was and wild to behold. 

Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold. 

Cap of vairnor rich array, 

Such as should grace that festal day : 

His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced. 

Uncovered his head, and his sandal unlaced : 

His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low. 

And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy glow ; 

A Danish club in his hand he bore. 

The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 337 

At his back a she-wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain, 
In the dangerous chase that morning slain. 
Rude was the greeting his father he made, 
None to the Bishop, — while thus he said : — 



" What priest-led hypocrite art thou, 

With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, 

Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? 

Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known. 

Royal Eric's fearless son, 

Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord. 

Who won his bride by the axe and sword ; 

From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tore. 

And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; 

With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skull. 

Before Odin's stone, of the Mountain Bull? 

Then ye worshipped with rites that to war-gods belong. 

With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the strong; 

And now, in thine age to dotage sunk. 

Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk, — 

Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair, — 

Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou bear? 

Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower 

To batten with priest and with paramour? 

Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! 

Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame, 

And thy son will refuse thee a father's name ! " 



Ireful waxed old Witikind's look, 

His faltering voice with fury shook: — 

" Hear me, Harold of hardened heart ! 

Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. 

Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease. 

Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — 

Just is the debt of repentance I 've paid. 

Richly the church has a recompense made. 

And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my blade, 

But reckoning to none of my actions I owe. 

And least to my son such accounting will show. 

Why speak J to thee of repentance or truth. 

Who ne'er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? 

Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den ; 

These are thy mates, and not rational men." 



Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied, 
" We must honor our sires, if we fear when they chide 
For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, 
I was rocked in a buckler and fed from a blade ; 
An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout 
From the roofs of the tower when the flame had broke out , 



338 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip, 
And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 
'T is thou know'st not truth, that hast bartered in eld. 
For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors held. 
When this wolf" — and the carcass he flung on the plain- 
*' Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again, 
The face of his father will Harold review ; 
Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu ! " 



Priest, monk, and prelate stood aghast. 

As through the pageant the heathen passed. 

A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung. 

Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it sprung. 

Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. 

When the holy sign on the earth was thrown ! 

The fierce old Count unsheathed his brand, 

But the calmer Prelate stayed his hand. 

" Let him pass free ! — Heaven knows its hour, — 

But he must own repentance's power, 

Pray and weep, and penance bear. 

Ere he hold land by the lyre and the Wear." 

Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 

Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 



High was the feasting in W itikind's hall, 
Revelled priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; 
And e'en the good Bishop was fam to endure 
The scandal, which time and instruction might cure ; 
It were dangerous, he deemed, at the first to restrain. 
In his wine and his wassail, a half-christened Dane. 
The mead flowed around, and the ale was drained dry. 
Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry; 
With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 
The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyan and Finn, 
Till man after man the contention gave o'er. 
Outstretched on the rushes that strewed the hall floor; 
And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout. 
Gave place to the tempest that thundered without. 

XIV. 

Apart firom the wassail, in turret alone. 
Lay flaxen-haired Gunnar. old Ermengarde's son ; 
In the train of Lord Harold that Page was the first. 
For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed ; 
And grieved was young Gunnar his master should roam. 
Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. 
He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain. 
He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane ; 
" And oh ! " said the Page, "on the shelterless wold 
Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! 
What though he was stubborn, and wayward and wild. 
He endured me because I was Ermengarde's child, — 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 33% 

And often from dawn till the set of the sun. 

In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidden I run ; 

I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, . 

I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the Wear : 

For my mother's command, with her last parting breath, 

Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death. 



" It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain, 
As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! 
Accursed by the church, and expelled by his sire, 
Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire, 
And this tempest what mortal may houseless endure? 
Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! 
Whate'er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not here." 
He leapt from his coiicli, and he grasped to his spear ; 
Sought the hall of the feast. Undisurbed by his tread. 
The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : 
" Ungrateful and bestial ! " his anger broke forth, 
" To forget 'mid your goblets the pride of the North ! 
And you, ye cowled priests, who have plenty in store ! 
Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore." 



Then, heeding full little of ban or of curse, 

He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse : 

Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has missed 

His mantle, deep furred from the cape to the wrist: 

The Seneschal's keys from his belt he has ta'en, 

(Well drenched on that eve was old Hildebrand's brain.) 

To the stable-yard he made his way, 

And mounted the Bishop's palfrey gay. 

Castle and hamlet behind him has cast. 

And right on his way to the moorland has passed. 

Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face 

A weather so wild at so rash a pace : 

So long he snorted, so loud he neighed. 

There answered a steed that was bound beside, 

And the red flash of lightning showed there where lay 

His master, Lord Harold, outstretched on the clay. 



Up he started, and thundered out, " Stand ! '* 
And raised the club in his deadly hand. 
The flaxen-haired Gunnar his purpose told, 
Showed the palfrey and proffered the gold. 
" Back, back, and home, thou simple boy I 
Thou canst not share my grief or joy : 
Have I not marked thee wail and cry 
When thou hast seen a sparrow die ? 
And canst thou, as my follower should, 
Wade ankle-deep through foeman's blood. 
Dare mortal and immortal foe. 
The gods abovet the fiends below. 



340 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

And man on earth, more hateful still, 

The very fountain-head of ill? 

Desperate of life, and careless of death. 

Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scath, 

Such must thou be with me to roam. 

And such thou canst not be, — back, and home J " 

XVIII. 

Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough. 

As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark brow, 

And half he repented his purpose and vow. 

But now to draw back were bootless shame, 

And he loved his master, so urged his claim : 

" Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak, 

Bear with me awhile for old Ermengarde's sake ; 

Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith. 

As to fear he would break it for peril of death. 

Have I not risked it to fetch thee this gold, 

This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? 

And, did I bear a baser mind. 

What lot remains if I stay behind? 

The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath, 

A dungeon, and a shameful death." 

XIX. 

With gentler look Lord Harold eyed 

The Page, then turned his head aside ; 

And either a tear did his eyelash stain, 

Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 

" Art thou an outcast, then ? " quoth he ; 

"The meeter page to follow me." 

'T were bootless to tell what climes they sought. 

Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; 

How oft with few, how oft alone. 

Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. 

Men swore his eye, that flashed so red 

When each other glance was quenched with dread, 

Bore oft a light of deadly flame, 

That ne'er from mortal courage came. 

Those limbs so strong, that mood so stem, 

That loved the couch of heath and fern, 

Afar from hamlet, tower, and town. 

More than to rest on driven down ; 

That stubborn frame, that sullen mood. 

Men deemed must come of aught but good ; 

And they whispered, the great Master Fiend was at one 

With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. 

XX. 

Years after years had gone and fled, 
The good old Prelate lies lapped in lead : 
In the chapel still is shown 
His sculptured form on a marble stone. 
With staff and ring and scapulaire, 
And folded hands in the act af prayer 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



341 



Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now 

On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow ; 

The power of his crozier he loved to extend 

O'er whatever would break, or whatever would bend ; 

And now hath he clothed him in cope and in pall, 

And the Chapter of Durham has met at his call. 

*' And hear ye not, brethren," the proud Bishop said, 

"That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind's dead? 

All his gold and his goods hath he given 

To holy Church for the love of Heaven, 

And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole, 

That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his soul : 

Harold his son is wandering abroad. 

Dreaded by man and abhorred by God ; 

Meet it is not, that such should heir 

The lands of the Church on the Tyne and the Wear, 

And at her pleasure, her hallowed hands 

May now resume these wealthy lands." 



Answered good Eustace, a canon old, — 

" Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold ; 

Ever Renown blows a note of fame. 

And a note of fear, when she sounds his name : 

Much of bloodshed and much of scath 

Have been their lot who have waked his wrath. 

Leave him these lands and lordships still. 

Heaven in its hour may change his will ; 

But if reft of gold, and of living bare, 

An evil counsellor is despair." 

More had he said, but the Prelate frowned, 

And murmured his brethren who sat around, 

And with one consent have they given their doom, 

That the Church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert resume. 

So willed the Prelate ; and canon and dean 

Gave to his judgment their loud amen. 



CANTO SECOND. 
I. 

'Tis merry in greenwood, — thus runs 

the old lay, — 
In the gladsome month of lively 

May, 
When the wild birds' song on stem and 

spray 
Invites to forest bower ; 
Then rears the ash his airy crest, 
Then shines the birch in silver vest, 
And the beech in glistening leaves is 

drest. 
And dark between shows the oak's proud 

breast, 
Like a chieftain's frowning tower ; 



Though a thousand branches join their 

screen, 
Yet the broken snnbeams glance be* 

tween 
And tip the leaves with lighter green. 

With brighter tints the flower; 

Dull is the heart that loves not then 

The deep recess of the wildwood glen. 

Where roe and red-deer find sheltering 

den. 

When the sun is in his power. 



Less merry, perchance, is the fading 

leaf 
That follows so soon on the gathered 

sheaf. 



342 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS! 



When the greenwood loses the 
name ; 
Silent is then the forest bound, 
Save the redbreast's note, and the 

rustling sound 
Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping 

round, 
Or deep-mouthed cry of the distant 
hound 
That opens on his game : 
Yet then, too, I love the forest wide, 
Whether the sun in splendor ride. 
And gild its many-colored side ; 
Or whether the soft and silvery haze. 
In vapory folds, o'er the landscape 

strays. 
And half involves the woodland maze, 

Like an early widow's veil, 
Where wimpling tissue from the gaze 
The form half hides and half betrays. 
Of beauty wan and pale. 



Fair Metelill was a woodland maid, 
Her father a rover of greenwood shade. 
By forest statutes undismayed. 

Who lived by bow and quiver ; 
Well known was Wulfstane's archery. 
By merry Tyne both on moor and lea. 
Through wooded Weardale's glens so 

free. 
Well beside Stanhope's wildwood tree, 

And well on Ganlesse river. 
Yet free though he trespassed on wood- 
land game. 
More known and more feared was the 

wizard fame 
Of Jutta of Rookhope, the Outlaw's 

dame ; 
Feared when she frowned was her eye 

of flame, 
More feared when in wrath she 

laughed ; 
For then, 't was said, more fatal true 
To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, 
Than when from Wulfstane's bended 

yew 
Sprung forth the gray-goose shaft. 



Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair. 
So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; 
None brighter crowned the bed, 
In Britain's bounds, of peer or prince, 



Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since 

In this fair isle been bred. 
And naught of fraud, or ire, or ill, 
Was known to gentle Metelill, — 

A simple maiden she ; 
The spells in dimpled smile that lie. 
And a downcast blush, and the darts 

that fly 
With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, 

Were her arms and witchery. 
So young, so simple was she yet, 
She scarce could childhood's joys forget. 
And still she loved, in secret set 

Beneath the greenwood tree. 
To plant the rushy coronet. 
And braid with flowers her locks of jet, 

As when in infancy ; — 
Yet could that heart, so simple, prove 
The early dawn of stealing love : 

Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! 
The power who, now so mild a guest. 
Gives dangerous yet delicious zest 
To the calm pleasures of thy breast. 
Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 

Let none his empire share. 



One mom, in kirtle green arrayed, 
Deep in the wood the maiden strayed, 

And, where a fountain sprung, 
She sat her down, unseen, to thread 
The scarlet berry's mimic braid. 

And while the beads she strung, 
Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay 
Gives a good-morrow to the day, 

So lightsomely she sung. 



Song. 
" Lord William was bom in gilded 

bower. 
The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; 
Yet better loves Lord William now 
To roam beneath wild Rookhope's 

brow : 
And William has lived where ladies fair 
With gauds and jewels deck their hair, 
Yet better loves the dewdrops still 
That pearl the locks of Metelill. 

" The pious Palmer loves, I wis, 
Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads to kiss ; 
But I, though simple girl I be. 
Might have such homage paid to me, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



343 



For did Lord William see me suit 
This necklace of the bramble's fruit, 
He fain — but must not have his will — 
Would kiss the beads of Metelill. 

" My nurse has told me many a tale. 
How vows of love are weak and frail ; 
My mother says that courtly youth 
By rustic maid means seldom sooth. 
What should they mean ? it cannot be, 
That such a warning 's meant for me, 
For naught — O, naught of fraud or ill 
Can William mean to Metelill ! " 



Sudden she stops, — and starts to feel 
A weighty hand, a glove of steel. 
Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; 
Fearful she turned, and saw, dismayed, 
A Knight in plate and mail arrayed, 
His crest and bearing worn and frayed, 

His surcoat soiled and riven. 
Formed like that giant race of yore. 
Whose long-continued crimes outwore 

The sufferance of Heaven. 
Stem accents made his pleasure known, 
Though then he used his gentlest tone : 
" Maiden," he said, "sing forth thy glee. 
Start not — sing on — it pleases me." 



Secured within his powerful hold, 
To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 

Was all the maiden might : 
And " O, forgive," she faintly said, 
"The terrors of a simple maid. 
If thou art mortal wight ! 
But if — of such strange tales are told, — 
Unearthly warrior of the wold. 
Thou comest to chide mine accents 

bold. 
My mother, Jutta, knows the spell, 
At noon and midnight pleasing well 

The disembodied ear ; 
O, let her powerful charms atone 
For aught my rashness may have done, 

And cease thy grasp of fear." 
Then laughed the Knight — his laugh- 
ter's sound 
Half in the hollow helmet drowned ; 
His barred visor then he raised. 
And steady on the maiden gazed. 
He smoothed his brows, as best he 

might, 
To the dread calm of autumn night. 



When sinks the tempest roar ; 
Yet still the cautious fishers eye 
The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky, 

And haul their barks on shore. 



"Damsel," he said, "be wise and learn 
Matters of weight and deep concern : 

From distant realms I come. 
And, wanderer long, at length have 

planned 
In this my native Northern land 

To seek myself a home. 
Nor that alone, — a mate I seek; 
She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — » 

No lordly dame for me ; 
Myself am something rough of mood, 
And feel the lire of royal blood. 
And therefore do not hold it good 

To match in my degree. 
Then, since coy maidens say my face 
Is harsh, my form devoid of grace. 
For a fair lineage to provide, 
'T is meet that my selected bride 

In lineaments be fair ; 
I love thine well, — till now I ne'er 
Looked patient on a face of fear, 
But now that tremulous sob and tear 

Become thy beauty rare. 
One kiss, — nay, damsel, coy it not ! — 
And now go seek thy parents' cot. 
And say, a bridegroom soon I come. 
To woo my love, and bear her home." 



Home sprung the maid without a pause, 
As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's 

jaws ; 
But still she locked, howe'er distressed. 
The secret in her boding breast ; 
Dreading her sire, who oft forbade 
Her steps should stray to distant glade. 
Night came, — to her accustomed nook 
Her distaff aged Jutta took, 
And, by the lamp's imperfect glow. 
Rough Wulfstane trimmed his shafts 

and bow. 
Sudden and clamorous from the ground 
Upstarted slumbering brach and hound; 
Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, 
And Wulfstane snatches at his arms. 
When open flew the yielding door. 
And that grim Warrior pressed the floor. 



344 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



•• All peace be here — What ! none 

replies ? 
Dismiss your fears and your surprise. 
'Tis I, — that Maid hath told my tale, — 
Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? 
It recks not — it is I demand 
Fair Metelill in marriage band ; 
Harold the Dauntless I, whose name 
Is brave men's boast and caitiff's 

shame." 
The parents sought each other's eyes 
With awe, resentment, and surprise : 
Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began 
The stranger's size and thews to scan ; 
But as he scanned, his courage sunk 
And from unequal strife he shrunk. 
Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 
The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ; 
Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell 
On Harold innocently fell ! 
And disappointment and amaze 
Were in the witch's wildered gaze. 



But soon the wit of woman woke, 
And to the Warrior mild she spoke : 
" Her child was all too young." — "A 

toy. 
The refuge of a maiden coy." 
Again, " A powerful baron's heir 
Claims in her heart an interest fair." 
" A trifle, — whisper in his ear, 
That Harold is a suitor here ! " — 
Baffled at length she sought delay ; 
" Would not the Knight till morning 

stay ? 
Late was the hour — he there might rest 
Till morn, their lodge's honored guest" 
Such were her words, — her craft might 

cast, 
Her honored guest should sleep his last : 
" No, not to-night, — but soon," he 

swore, 
" He would return, nor leave them 

more." 
The threshold then his huge stride crost, 
And soon he was in darkness lost. 

XIII. 

Appalled awhile the parents stood. 
Then changed their fear to angry mood, 
And foremost fell their words of ill 
On unresisting Metelill ; 



Was she not cautioned and forbid. 
Forewarned, implored, accused, and 

chid. 
And must she still to greenwood roam. 
To marshal such misfortune home? 
"Hence, minion — to thy chamber 

hence — 
There prudence learn, and penitence." 
She went, — her lonely couch to steep 
In tears which absent lovers weep ; 
Or, if she gained a troubled sleep, 
Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme 
And terror of her feverish dream. 



Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire 
Upon each other bent their ire : 
" A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, 
And couldst thou such an insult bear ? " 
Sullen he said, "A man contends 
With men, a witch with sprites and 

fiends ; 
Not to mere mortal wight belong 
Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. 
But thou — is this thy promise fair, 
That your Lord William, wealthy heir 
To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, 
Should Metelill to altar bear? 
Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine 
Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, 
His grain in autumn's storms to steep. 
Or thorough fog and fen to sweep, 
And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep ? 
Is such mean mischief worth the fame 
Of sorceress and witch's name? 
Fame, which with all men's wish con- 
spires, 
With thy deserts and my desires, 
To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? 
Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint ! 
What now shall put thy schemes in 

joint ? 
What save this trusty arrow's point. 
From the dark dingle when it flies. 
And he who meets it gasps and dies." 



Stem she replied, ** I will not wage 
War with thy folly or thy rage ; 
But ere the morrow's sun be low, 
Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt 

know. 
If I can venge me on a foe. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



345 



Believe the while, that whatso'er 
I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, 
It is not Harold's destiny 
The death of pilfered deer to die, 
But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, 
(That shall be yet more pallid soon, 
Before she sink behind the dell,) 
Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell 
AVhat Jutta knows of charm or spell." 
Thus muttering, to the door she bent 
Her wayward steps, and forth she went, 
And left alone the moody sire 
To cherish or to slake his ire. 



Far faster than belonged to age 
Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. 
A priest has met her as she passed, 
And crossed himself and stood aghast : 
She traced a hamlet, — not a cur 
His throat would ope, his foot would 

stir ; 
By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 
They made her hated presence known ! 
But when she trode the sable fell, 
Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — 
For far was heard the fox's yell. 
The black-cock waked and faintly crew. 
Screamed o'er the moss the scared cur- 
lew ; 
Where o'er the cataract the oak 
Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; 
The mountain cat, which sought his 

prey. 
Glared, screamed, and started from her 

way. 
Such music cheered her journey lone 
To the deep dell and rocking stone ; 
There, with unhallowed hymn of praise, 
She called a God of heathen days. 



INVOCATION. 

" From thy Pomeranian throne, 
Hewn in rock of living stone. 
Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, 
Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, 
And their swords in vengeance whet, 
That shall make thine altars wet. 
Wet and red for ages more 
With the Christian's hated gore, — 
Hear me ! Sovereigns of the Rock, 
Hear me ! mighty Zernebock ! 



" Mightiest of the mighty known. 
Here thy wonders have been shown ; 
Hundred tribes in various tongue 
Oft have here thy praises sung ; 
Down that stone with Runic seamed. 
Hundred victims' blood hath streamed I 
Now one woman comes alone. 
And but wets it with her own. 
The last, the feeblest of thy flock, — 
Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! 

"Hark! becomes! the night-blast cold 

Wilder sweeps along the wold ; 

The cloudless moon grows dark and 

dim. 
And bristling hair and quaking limb 
Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — 
Those who view his form shall die ! 
Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; 
Thou who ridest the tempest dread, 
Shaking hill and rending oak, — 
Spare me ! spare me ! Zernebock. 

" He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay 
Thy votaress at her need repay ? 
Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ? 
Let others on thy mood attend 
With prayer and ritual, — Jutta's arms 
Are necromantic words and charms ; 
Mine is the spell, that, uttered once, 
Shall wake Thy Master from his trance. 
Shake his red mansion-house of pain, 
And burst his seven-times-twisted 

chain ! — 
So ! comest thou ere the spell is spoke ? 
I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 

XVIII. 

"Daughter of dust," the Deep Voice 

said. 
Shook while it spoke the vale for 

dread. 
Rocked on the base that massive stone, 
The Evil Deity to own, — 
" Daughter of dust ! not mine the power 
Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 
'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife 
Waged for his soul and for his life. 
And fain would we the combat win, 
And snatch him in his hour of sin. 
There is a star now rising red. 
That threats him with an influence 

dread ; 
Woman, thine arts of malice whet. 
To use the space before it set. 



346 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



Involve him with the church in strife, 
Push on adventurous chance his Hfe ; 
Ourself will in the hour of need, 
As best we may, thy counsels speed." 
So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues 

round 
Each hamlet started at the sound ; 
But slept again, as slowly died 
Its thunders on the hill's brown side. 



*' And is this all," said Jutta stem, 
" That thou canst teach and I can learn ? 
Hence ! to the land offog and waste, 
There fittest is thine influence placed, 
Thou powerless, sluggish Deity ! 
JSut ne'er shall Briton bend the knee 



^ 



Again before so poor a god." 
Slie struck the altar with her rod : 
Slight was the touch, as when at 

need 
A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; 
But to the blow the stone gave place. 
And, starting from its balanced base, 
Rolled thundering down the moonlight 

dell, — 
Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell ; 
Into the moonlight tarn it dashed, 
Their shores the sounding surges lashed 

And there was ripple, rage, and 
foam ; 
But on the lake, so dark and lone, 
Placid and pale the moonbeam shone 

As Jutta hied her home. 



CANTO THIRD. 



Gray towers of Durham ! there was once a time 
I viewed your battlements with such vague hope 
As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; 
Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope 
A vision vain, of mitre, throne, or cope ; 
Yet, gazing on the venerable hall. 
Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope 
Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall. — 
And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all. 

Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles. 
Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, 
And long to roam these venerable aisles. 
With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; 
There might I share my Surtees' happier lot, 
Who leaves at will his patrimonial field 
To ransack every crypt and hallowed spot. 
And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield. 
Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield. 

Vain is the wish, — since other cares demand 
Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 
But still that northern harp invites my hand. 
Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time ; 
And fain its numbers would I now command 
To paint the beauties of that dawning fair. 
When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand 
Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, 
Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear. 



Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced, 
Betraying it beneath the woodland bank, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



347 



And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced 
Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank. 
Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, 
And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, 
And from their circuit pealed o'er bush and bank 
The matin bell with summons long and deep, 
And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep. 



The morning mists rose from the ground, 
Each merry bird awakened round, 

As if in revelry ; 
Afar the bugle's clanging sound 
Called to the chase the lagging hound ; 

The gale breathed soft and free, 
And seemed to linger on its way 
I'o catch fresh odors from the spray. 
And waved it in its wanton play 

So light and gamesomely. 
The scenes which morning beams re- 
veal, 
Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel 
] n all their fragrance round him steal, 
It melted Harold's heart of steel. 

And, hardly wotting why, 
He doffed his helmet's gloomy pride, 
And hung it on a tree beside, 

Laid mace and falchion by, 
And on the greensward sat him down, 
And from his dark habitual frown 

Relaxed his rugged brow, — 
Whoever hath the doubtful task 
l'"rom that stern Dane a boon to ask, 

Were wise to ask it now. 



His place beside young Gunnar took, 
And marked his master's softening look, 
And in his eye's dark mirror spied 
The gloom of stormy thoughts subside, 
And cautious watched the fittest tide 

To speak a warning word. 
So when the torrent's billows shrink. 
The timid pilgrim on the brink 
Waits long to see them wave and sink, 

Ere he dare brave the ford. 
And often, after doubtful pause, 
His step advances or withdraws ; 
Fearful to move the slumbering ire 
Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire. 

Till Harold raised his eye, 
That glancedaswhen athwart theshroud 
Of the dispersing tempest-cloud 

The bursting sunbeams fly. 



" Arouse thee, son of Erniengarde, 
Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 
Take harp, and greet this lovely prime 
With some high strain of Runic rhyme, 
Strong, deep, and powerful ! Peal it 

round 
Like that loud bell's sonorous sound, 
Yet wild by fits, as when the lay 
Of bird and bugle hail the day. 
Such was my grandsire Eric's sport. 
When dawn gleamed on his martial 

court. 
Heymar the Scald, with harp's high 

sound. 
Summoned the chiefs who slept around; 
Couched on the spoils of wolf and 

bear, 
They roused like lions from their lair, 
Then rushed in emulation forth 
To enhance the glories of the north. 
Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race, 
Where is thy shadowy resting-place ? 
In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed 
Fromfoeman'sskuU metheglin draught, 
Or wanderest where thy caim was piled 
To frown o'er oceans wide and wild? 
Or have the milder Christians given 
Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven ? 
Where'er thou art, to thee are known 
Our toils endured, our trophies won. 
Our wars, our wanderings, and out 

woes." 
He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose. 

VI. 
SONG. 

" Hawk and osprey screamed for joy 
O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, 
Crimson foam the beach o'erspread. 
The heath was dyed with darker red, 
When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, 
Dane and Northman piled the stone ; 
Singing wild the war-song stem, 
' Rest thee. Dweller of the Caim I ' 



348 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



"Where eddying currents foam and boil 
By Bersa's burgh and Grsemsay's isle, 
The seaman sees a martial form 
Half mingled with the mist and storm. 
In anxious awe he bears away 
To moor his bark in Stromna's bay. 
And murmurs from the bounding stern, 
' Rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! ' 

" What cares disturb the mighty dead ? 
Each honored rite was duly paid ; 
No daring hand thy helm unlaced, 
Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee 

placed. 
Thy flinty couch, no tear profaned. 
Without, with hostile blood was stained; 
Within,'t was lined with mossand fern, — 
Then rest thee. Dweller of the Cairn ! 

" He ma5[ not rest : from realms afar 
Comes voice of battle and of war, 
Of conquest wrought with bloody hand 
On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand. 
When Odin's warlike son could daunt 
The turbaned race of Termagaunt." 



" Peace," said the Knight, " the noble 

Scald 
Our warlike fathers' deeds recalled. 
But never strove to soothe the son 
With tales of what himself hath done. 
At Odin's board the bard sits high 
Whose harp ne'er stooped to flattery ; 
But highest he whose daring lay 
Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." 
With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed 
His master's looks, and naught replied; 
But well that smile his master led 
To construe what he left unsaid. 
*' Is it to me, thou timid youth. 
Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth! 
My soul no more thy censure grieves 
Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. 
Say on — and yet — beware the rude 
And wild distemper of my blood ; 
Loath were I that mine ire should wrong 
The youth that bore my shield so long, 
And who, in service constant still. 
Though weak in frame, art strong in 

will." — 
" O," quoth the Page, "even there 

depends 
My counsel, — there my warning 

tends, — 



Oft seems as of my master'3 breast 
Some demon were the sudden guest ; 
Then at the first misconstrued word 
His hand is on the mace and sword, 
From her firm seat his wisdom drive:.. 
His life to countless dangers given. 
O would that Gunnar could suffice 
To be the fiend's last sacrifice. 
So that, when glutted with my gore, 
He fled and tempted thee no more ! " 



Then waved his hand and shook his 

head 
The impatient Dane, while thus he 

said : 
" Profane not, youth — it is not thine 
To judge the spirit of our line — 
The bold Berserker's rage divine. 
Through whose inspiring, deeds are 

wrought 
Past human strength and human 

thought. 
When full upon his gloomy soul 
The champion feels the influence roll. 
He swims the lake, he leaps the wall, — 
Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the 

fall,— 
Unshielded, mailless, on he goes 
Singly against a host of foes; 
Their spears he holds like withered 

reeds. 
Their mail like maiden's silken weeds ; 
One 'gainst a hundred will he strive. 
Take countless wounds, and yet sur- 
vive. 
Then rush the eagles to his cry 
Of slaughter and of victory, — 
And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 
Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks 

his soul ; 
And all that meet him in his ire 
He gives to ruin, rout, and fire ; 
Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, 
And couches till he 's man again. 
Thou know'st the signs of look and 

limb. 
When 'gins that rage to overbrim ; 
Thou know'st when I am moved, and 

why ; 
And when thou see'st me roll mine 

eye, 
Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot. 
Regard thy safety and be mute ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



349 



But else speak boldly out whate'er 
Is fitting that a knight should hear. 
I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power 
Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — 
So Christian monks are wont to say 
Demons of old were charmed away ; 
Then fear not I will rashly deem 
111 of thy speech, whate'er the theme." 



As down some strait in doubt and 

dread 
The watchful pilot drops the lead, 
And, cautious in the midst to steer, 
The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; 
So, lest on dangerous ground he 

swerved, 
The Page his master's brow observed, 
Pausing at intervals to fling 
His hand on the melodious string, 
And to his moody breast apply 
The soothing charm of harmony. 
While hinted half, and half exprest, 
This warning song conveyed the rest. 

SONG. 

I. 

" 111 fares the bark with tackle riven, 
And ill when on the breakers driven, — 
111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, 
And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; 
But worse when on her helm the hand 
Of some false traitor holds command. 



" 111 fares the fainting Palmer, placed 
'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rana's 

waste, — 
111 when the scorching sun is high, 
And the expected font is dry, — 
Worse when his guide o'er sand and 

heath. 
The barbarous Copt, has planned his 

death. 



" 111 fares the knight with buckler cleft. 
And ill when of his helm bereft, — 
111 when his steed to earth is flung. 
Or from his grasp his falchion wrung ; 
But worse, of instant ruin token, 
When he lists rede by woman spo- 
ken." 



"How now, fond boy? — Canst thoi'> 

think ill," 
Said Harold, " of fair Metelill ? " 
" She may be fair," the Page replied. 

As through the strings he ranged,^ 
" She may be fair ; but yet," he cried, 

And then the strain he changed,-^ 



" She may be fair," he sang, "but yet 

Far fairer have I seen 
Than she, for all her locks of jet. 

And eyes so dark and sheen. 
Were I a Danish knight in arms. 

As one day I may be, 
My heart should own no foreign 
charms, — 

A Danish maid for me ! 



" I love my father's northern land. 

Where the dark pine-trees grow. 
And the bold Baltic's echoing strand 

Looks o'er each grassy oe. 
I love to mark the lingering sun. 

From Denmark loath to go. 
And leaving on the billows bright, 
To cheer the short-lived summer night, 

A path of ruddy glow. 



" But most the northern maid I love. 

With breast like Denmark's snow, 
And form as fair as Denmark's pine. 
Who loves with purple heath to twine 

Her locks of sunny glow ; 
And sweetly blend that shade of gold 

With the cheek's rosy hue, 
And Faith might for her mirror hold 

That eye of matchless blue. 



" 'T is hers the manly sports to love 

That southern maidens fear, 
To bend the bow by stream and grove, 

And lift the hunter's spear. 
She can her chosen champion's flight 

With eye undazzled see. 
Clasp him victorious from the strife. 
Or on his corpse yield up her life, — * 

A Danish maid for me ! " 



3SO 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



Then smiled the Dane : " Thou canst 

so well 
The virtues of our maidens tell, 
Half could I wish my choice had been 
Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, 
And lofty soul ; yet what of ill 
Hast thou to charge on Metelill? " — 
" Nothing on her," young Gunnar 

said, 
" But her base sire's ignoble trade. 
Her mother, too, — the general fame 
Hath given to Jutta evil name, 
And in her gray eye is a flame 
Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. 
That sordid woodman's peasant cot 
Twice have thine honored footsteps 

sought. 
And twice returned with such ill rede 
As sent thee on some desperate 

deed." 



" Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, 
He that comes suitor to a maid, 
Ere linked in marriage should provide 
Lands and a dwelling for his bride : 
My father's by the Tyne and Wear 
I have reclaimed." " O, all too dear, 



And all too dangerous the prize. 

E'en were it won," young Gunnar 

cries ; 
" And then this Jutta's fresh device. 
That thou shouldst seek, a heathen 

Dane, 
From Durham's priests a boon to gain, 
When thou hast left their vassals slain 
In their own halls ! " Flashed Harold's 

eye. 
Thundered his voice : " Fal^e Page, 

you lie ! 
The castle, hall and tower, is mine, 
Built by old Witikind on Tyne. 
The wild-cat will defend his den, 
Fights for her nest the timid wren ; 
And think'st thou I '11 forego my right 
For dread of monk or monkish 

knight? — 
Up and away, that deepening bell 
Doth of the Bishop's conclave tell. 
Thither will I, in manner due. 
As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 
And if to right me they are loath. 
Then woe to church and chapter both ! " 
Now shift the scene, and let the curtain 

fall, 
And our next entry be St. Cuthbert's 

hall. 



CANTO FOURTH. 



Full many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom 
Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribbed roof, 
O'er-canopying shrine, and gorgeous tomb. 
Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof, 
And blending with the shade, — a matchless proof 
Of high devotion, which hath now waxed cold; 
Yet legends say, that Luxury's brute hoof 
Intruded oft within such sacred fold, 
Like step of Bel's false priest, tracked ift his fane of old. 

Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the rout 
Of our rude neighbors whilome deigned to come, 
Uncalled, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out 
And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, 
They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom 
To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own. 
But spared the martyred saint and storied tomb. 
Though papal miracles had graced the stone. 
And though the aisles still loved the organ's swelling tone. 

And deem not, though 't is now my part to paint 
A Prelate swayed by love of power and gold, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



35^1 



That all who wore the mitre of our Saint 
Like to ambitious Aldingar I hold ; 
Since both in modern times and days of old 
It sat on those whose virtues might atone 
Their predecessors' frailties trebly told : 
Matthew and Morton we as such may own, — 
And such (if fame speak truth) the honored Barrington. 



But now to earlier and to ruder 

times, 
As subject meet, I tune my ragged 

rhymes. 
Telling how fairly the chapter was 

met, 
And rood and books in seemly order 

set; 
Huge brass-clasped volumes, which 

the hand 
Of studious priest but rarely scanned, 
Now on fair carved desk displayed, 
'T was theirs the solemn scene to 

aid. 
O'erhead with many a scutcheon 

graced. 
And quaint devices interlaced, 
A labyrinth of crossing rows, 
The roof in lessening arches shows ; 
Beneath its shade placed proud and 

high. 
With footstool and with canopy. 
Sat Aldingar, — and prelate ne'er 
More haughty graced Saint Culh- 

bert's chair ; 
Canons and deacons were placed 

below, 
In due degree and lengthened row. 



Unmoved and silent each sat there, 
Like image in his oaken chair ; 
Nor head nor hand, nor foot they 

stirred. 
Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; 
And of their eyes severe alone 
The twinkle showed they were not 

stone. 



The Prelate was to speech addressed. 
Each head sunk reverent on each 

breast ; 
But ere his voice was heard — with- 
out 
Arose a wild tumultuous shout. 
Offspring of wonder mixed with fear, 
Such as in crowded streets we he.if 
Hailing the flames, that, bursting 

out, 
Attract yet scare the rabble rout. 
Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 
Shook oaken door and iron band, 
Till oak and iron both gave way. 
Clashed the long bolts, the hinges 
bray. 
And, ere upon angel or saint they can 

call. 
Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst 
of the hall. 



•' Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood, 

From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! 

For here stands Count Harold, old VVitikind's son. 

Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won." 

The Prelate looked round him with sore troubled eye. 

Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; 

While each Canon and Deacon who heard the Dane speak, 

To be safely at home would have fasted a week : — 

Then Aldingar roused him, and answered again : 

" Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain .* 

The Church hath no fiefs for an unchristened Dane. 

Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given. 

That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to heaven ; 



352 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

And the fiefs which whilome he possessed as his due 
Have lapsed to the Church, and been granted anew 
To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, 
For the service Saint Cuthbert's blessed banner to bear. 
When the bands of the North come to foray the Wear ; 
Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling or blame, 
But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came." 



Loud laughed the stern Pagan, — " They 're free from the care 

Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, — 

Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, 

A buckler of stone and a corselet of lead. 

Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ! " — and, severed anew, 

A head and a hand on the altar he threw. 

Then shuddered with terror both Canon and Monk, 

They knew the glazed eye and the countenance shrunk, 

And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, 

And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. 

There was not a churchman or priest that was there, 

But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to prayer. 



Count Harold laughed at their looks of fear : 

" Was this the hand should your banner bear? 

Was that the head should wear the casque 

In battle at the Church's task? 

Was it to such you gave the place 

Of Harold with the heavy mace? 

Find me between the Wear and Tyne 

A knight will wield this club of mine, — 

Give him my fiefs, and I will say 

There 's wit beneath the cowl of gray." 

He raised it, rough with many a stain, 

Caught from crushed skull and spouting brain ; 

He wheeled it that it shrilly sung, 

And the aisles echoed as it swung, 

Then dashed it down with sheer descent, 

And split King Osric's monument. 

" How like ye this music ? How trow ye the hand 

That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land ? 

No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree, 

And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be. 

Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on your bell, 

And again I am with you, — grave fathers, farewell." 



He turned from their presence, he clashed the oak door, 
And the clang of his stride died away on the floor; 
And his head from his bosom the Prelate uprears 
With a ghost-seer's look when the ghost disappears : 
" Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give me your rede, 
For never of counsel had Bishop more need ! 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

Were the archfiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, 
The language, the look, and the laugh were his own. 
Ill the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a knight 
Dare confront in our quarrel 5'on goblin in fight ; 
Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 
'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death tu deny." 



353 



On ven'son and malmsie that morning 

had fed 
The Cellarer Vinsauf — 't was thus that 

he said : 
" Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's 

reply; 
Let the feast be spread fair, and the 

wine be poured high : 
If he 's mortal he drinks, — if he drinks, 

he is ours, — 
His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our 

towers." 
This man had a laughing eye, 
Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; 
A beaker's depth he well could dram'. 
Revel, sport, and jest amain, — 
The haunch of the deer and the grape's 

bright dye 
Never bard loved them better than I ; 
But sooner than Vinsauf filled me my 

wine. 
Passed me his jest, and laughed at 

mine. 
Though the buck were of Bearpark, of 

Bordeaux the vine, 
With the dullest hermit I 'd rather 
dine 



Walwayn the leech spoke next, — he 

knew 
Each plant that loves the sun and dew. 
But special those whose juice can gain 
Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; 
The peasant who saw him by pale 

moonbeam 
Gathering such herbs by bank and 

stream. 
Deemed his thin form and soundless 

tread 
Were those of wanderer from the dead. 
"Vinsauf, thy wine," he said, "hath 

power, 
Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower ; 
Yet three drops from this flask of mine, 
Wore strong than dungeons, gyves, or 

wine, 
Shall give him jn-ison underground 
Moredark, morenarrow, more profound. 
Short rede, good rede, let Harold 

have — 
A dog's death and a heathen's grave." 
I have lain on a sick man's bed. 
Watching for hours for the leech's tread. 
As if I deemed that his presence alone. 
Were of power to bid my pain begone ; 
I have listed his words of comfort givea 
As if to oracles from heaven ; 



On an oaken cake and a draught of the 
Tyne. 

I have counted his steps from my chamber door, 
And blessed them when they were heard no more • — 
But sooner than Walwayn my sick-couch should nigh. 
My choice were by leechcraft unaided to die- 



' Such service dtme in fervent zeal 
The Church may pardon and conceal," 
The doubtful Prelate said ; " but ne'er 
The counsel ere the act should hear. 
Ansel m of Jarrow, advise us now, 
The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow; 
Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, 
Are still to mystic learning lent; — 
Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope. 
Thou well mayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope. 
23 



35+ HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

XI. 

Answered the Prior : " 'T is wisdom's use 

Still to .delay what we dare not refuse ; 

Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask. 

Shape for the giant gigantic task ; 

Let us see how a step so sounding can tread 

In paths of darkness, danger, and dread : 

He may not, he will not, impugn our decree. 

That calls for but proof of his chivalry ; 

And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the Strong, 

Our wilds have adventure might cumber them long — 

The Castle of Seven Shields " — " Kind Anselm, no more i 

The step of the Pagan approaches the door." 

The churchmen were hushed. In his mantle of skin, 

With his mace on his shoulder. Count Harold strode in. 

There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye, 

For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. 

" Ho ! Bishop," he said, " dost thou grant me my claim? 

Or must I assert it by falchion and flame ? " 

XII. 

" On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop reph"ed. 

In accents which trembled, " we may not decide. 

Until proof of your strength and your valor we saw, 

*Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law." 

" And would you, Sir Prelate, have Harold make sport 

For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in thy court? 

Say what shall he do ? — From the shrine shall he tear 

The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in air. 

And through the long chancel make Cuthbert take wing. 

With the speed of a buUet dismissed from the sling? " 

*' Nay, spare such probation," the Cellarer said, 

" From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall be read. 

While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of gold. 

And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told ; 

And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, tell 

That the Bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings, meant weQc 

XI SI. 

Loud revelled the guests, and the goblets loud rang. 
But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville, sang ; 
And Harold, the hurry amd pride of whose soul, 
E'en when verging to fury, owned music's control. 
Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye. 
And often untasted the goblet passed by ; 
Than wine, or than wassail, to him was more dear 
The minstrel's high tale cf enchantment to hear ; 
And the Bishop that day might of Yinsauf complain 
That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. 

XIV. 

THE CASTLE OF THE SEVEN SHIBLHS. 

A BALLAD. 

The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 
Their skill could call the moon from heaven ; 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 355 

So fair their forms and so high their fame, 
That seven proud kings for their suitors came. 

King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, 
Unshorn was their hair, and uupruned were their nails ; 
From Strath-Clyde was Ewain, and Ewain was lame, 
And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. 

Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchbacked from youth ; 
Dunmail of Cumbria had never a tooth ; 
But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heir, 
Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fair. 

There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one would have 
For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave ; 
And envy bred hate, and liate urged them to blows, 
When the firm earth was cleft, and the Archfiend arose I 

He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil, — 
They swore to the foe they would work by his will. 
A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, 
" Now hearken my spell," said the Outcast of heaven. 

" Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour. 

And for every spindle shall rise a tower. 

Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shall have power, 

And there shall ye dwell with your paramour." 

Beneath the pale moonlight they sat on the wold. 

And the rhymes which they chanted must never be told ; 

And as the black wool from the distatf they sped. 

With blood from their bosom they moistened the thread. 

As light danced the spindles beneath the cold gleam, 
The castle arose like the birth of a dream, — 
The seven towers ascended like mist from the ground. 
Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surround. 

Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed, 
But six of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; 
With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red. 
Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian's bed. 

"Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done. 

Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, 

Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do, 

Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless too." 

Well chanced it that Adolf the night when he wed 
H^d confessed and had sained him ere boune to his bed; 
He sprung from the couch and his broadsword he drew. 
And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. 

The gate of the castle he bolted and sealed, 
And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield ; 
To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended his way. 
And died in his cloister an anchorite gray. 

Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stowed, 
The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad. 



556 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

Whoever shall guesten these chambers within, 
From curfew till matins, that treasure shall win. 

But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old I 
There lives not in Britain a champion so bold, 
So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain, 
As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. 

The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the rye, 
Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly. 
And the flint cliffs of Bambro' shall melt in the sun. 
Before that adventure be perilled and won. 



*' And is this my probation ? " wild Harold he said, 

" Within a lone castle to press a lone bed ? 

Good even, my Lord Bishop, — Saint Cuthbert to borrow. 

The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to-morrow." 

CANTO FIFTH. 
I. 
Denmark's sage courtier to her princely youth. 
Granting his cloud an ouzel or a whale. 
Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth : 
For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. 
The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale, 
Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, 
Are but the ground-work of the rich detail 
Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, 
Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt muser's gaze. 

Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone 
Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; 
For not with unsubstantial hues alone. 
Caught from the varying surge, or vacant heaven. 
From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin. 
She limns her pictures : on the earth, as air, 
Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; 
And never gazed the eye on scene so fair. 
But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the share. 



Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, 
Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 
Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, 
Ever companion of his master's way. 
Midward their path, a rock of granite gray 
From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — 
A barren mass, — yet with her drooping spray 
Had a young birch-tree crowned its battlement. 
Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw, and rent. 

This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought engage 
Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye, 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



357 



And at his master asked the timid Page, 
" What is the emblem that a bard should spy 
In that rude rock and its green canopy ? " 
And Harold said : " Like to the helmet brave 
Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie, 
And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave 
Not all unlike the plume his lady's favor gave." 

" Ah, no ! " replied the Page ; " the ill-starred love 
Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, 
Whose fates are with some hero's interwove, 
And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 
And as the gentle dews of heaven alone 
Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the scath 
Of the red lightning rends both tree and stone, 
So fares it with her unrequited faith, 
Her sole relief is tears, — her only refuge death." 



" Thott art a fond fantastic boy," 
Harold replied, " to females coy, 

Yet prating still of love ; 
Even so amid the clash of war 
I know thou lovest to keep afar, 
Though destined by thy evil star 

With one like me to rove, 
Whose business and whose joys are 

found 
Upon the bloody battle-ground. 
Yet, foolish trembler as thou art, 
Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, 
And thou and I will never part ; — 
Harold would wrap the world in flame 
Ere injury on Gunnar came." 



The grateful Page made no reply, 
But turned to Heaven his gentle eye, 
And clasped his hands, as one who 

said, 
" My toils — my wanderings are 

o'erpaid ! "' 
Then in a gayer, lighter strain. 
Compelled himself to speech again ; 

And, as they flowed along, 
His words took cadence soft and slow, 
And liquid, like dissolving snow, 

They melted into song. 



" What though through fields of car- 
nage wide 
I may not follow Harold's stride. 
Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride 



Lord Harold's feats can see ? 
And dearer than the couch of pride, 
He loves the bed of gray wolfs hide, 
When slumbering by Lord Harold's 
side 

In forest, field, or lea." 



" Break off! " said Harold, in a tone 
Where hurry and surprise were shown 

With some slight touch of fear, — i 
" Break off, we are not here alone ; 
A Palmer form comes slowly on ! 
By cowl, and staff, and mantle known, 

My monitor is near. 
Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfuUy ; 
He pauses by the blighted tree — 
Dost see him, youth ? — Thou couldst 

not see 
When in the vale of Galilee 

I first beheld his form. 
Nor when we met that other while 
In Cephalonia's rocky isle. 

Before the fearful storm, — 
Dost see him now?" The Page, 

distraught 
With terror, answered, " I see naught. 

And there is naught to see, 
Save that the oak's scathed boughs 
fling down 
Upon the path a shadow brown. 
That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown. 

Waves with the waving tree." 



Count Harold gazed upon the oak 
As if his eyestrings would have broke. 



358 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



And then resolvedly said : 
" Be what it will yon phantom gray — 
Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say 
That for their shadows from his way 

Count Harold turned dismaj'ed : 
I '11 speak him, though his accents fill 
My heart with that unwonted thrill 

Which vulgar minds call fear. 
I will subdue it ! " Forth he strode, 
Paused where the blighted oak-tree 

showed 
Its sable shadow on the road. 
And, folding on his bosom broad 
His arms, said, " Speak — I hear," 



The Deep Voice said : " O wild of 

will. 
Furious thy purpose to fulfil, — 
Heart-seared and unrepentant still. 
How long, O Harold, shall thy tread 
Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? 
Each step in thy wild way thou 

makest, 
The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; 
And shout in triumph o'er thy path 
The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. 



In this thine hour, yet turn and hear I 
For life is brief and judgment near." 



Then ceased The Voice. The Dane 

replied 
In tones where awe and inborn pride 
For mastery strove, " In vain ye 

chide 
The wolf for ravaging the flock, 
Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 
I am as they, — my Danish strain 
Sends streams of fire through every 

vein. 
Amid thy realms of ghoul and ghost, 
Say, is the fame of Eric lost, 
Or Witikind's the Waster, known 
Where fame or spoil was to be won : 
Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore 
They left not black with flame ? — 
He was my sire, — and, sprung of him, 
That rover merciless and grim. 
Can I be soft and tame ? 
Part hence, and with my crimes no 

more upbraid me, 
I am that Waster's son, and am but 

what he made me." 



The Phantom groaned ; — the mountain shook around. 

The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound. 

The gorse and fern did wildly round them wave, 

As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. 

" All thou hast said is truth. Yet on the head 

Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid. 

That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace. 

From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — 

Relentless in his avarice and ire, 

Churches and towns he gave to sword and fire ; 

Shed blood like water, wasted every land, 

Like the destroying angel's burning brand ; 

Fulfilled whate'er of ill might be invented. 

Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he REPENTED ! 

Perchance it is part of his punishment still. 

That his offspring pursues his example of ill. 

But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next shake thee, 

Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake thee ; 

If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever, 

The gate of repentance shall ope for thee never ! " 



" He is gone," said Lord Harold, and gazed as he spoke; 
" There is naught on the path but the shade of the oak. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



359 



He is gone, whose strange presence my feeling oppressed. 

Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's breast. 

My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread. 

And cold dews drop from my brow and my head. — 

Ho ! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave ; 

He said that three drops would recall from the grave. 

For the first time Count Harold owns leechcraft has power, 

Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower ! " 

The Page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had filled 

With the juice of wild roots that his art had distilled. 

So baneful their influence on all that had breath, 

One drop had been frenzy, and two had been death. 

Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubilee shrill, 

And music and clamor, were heard on the hill, 

And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er stone, 

The train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; 

There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still 

The burden was, "Joy to the fair Metelill ! " 



Harold might see from his high 

stance, 
Himself unseen, that train advance 

With mirth and melody ; — 
On horse and foot a mingled throng. 
Measuring their steps to bridal song 

And bridal minstrelsy ; 
And ever when the blithesome rout 
Lent to the song their choral shout. 
Redoubling echoes rolled about. 
While echoing cave and cliff sent out 

The answering symphony 
Of all those mimic notes which dwell 
In hollow rock and sounding dell. 



Joy shook his torch above the band. 
By many a various passion fanned ; — 
As elemental sparks can feed 
On essence pure and coarsest weed. 
Gentle, or stormy, or refined, 
Joy takes the colors of the mind. 
Lightsome and pure, but unrepressed, 
He fired the bridegroom's gallant 

breast ; 
More feebly strove with maiden fear. 
Yet still joy glimmered through the 

tear 
On the bride's blushing cheek, that 

shows 
Like dewdrop on the budding rose ; 
While Wulfstane's gloomy smile de- 
clared 
The glee that selfish avarice shared, 



And pleased revenge and malice 

high 
Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. 
On dangerous adventure sped. 
The witch deemed Harold with the 

dead. 
For thus that morn her demon said : 
" If, ere the set of sun, be tied 
The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his 

bride. 
The Dane shall have no power of ill 
O'er William and o'er Metelill." 
And the pleased witch made answer : 

" Then 
Must Harold have passed from the 

paths of men ! 
Evil repose may his spirit have, — 
May hemlock and mandrake find root 

in his grave, — 
May his death-sleep be dogged by 

dreams of dismay. 
And his waking be worse at the an- 
swering day ! " 



Such was their various mood of glee 
Blent in one shout of ecstasy. 
But still when Joy is brimming high- 
est. 
Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, 
Of Terror with her ague cheek, 
And lurking Danger, sages speak : — 
These haunt each path, but chief 

they lay 
Their snares beside the primrose 
way. 



S6o 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



Thus found that bridal band their 

path 
Beset by Harold in his wrath. 
Trembling beneath his maddening 

mood, 
High on a rock the giant stood ; 
His shout was like the doom of death 
Spoke o'er their heads that passed 

beneath. 
His destined victims might not spy 
'I'he reddening terrors of his eye, — 
I'he frown of rage that writhed his 

face, — 
The lip that foamed like boar's in 

chase ; — 
But all could see — and, seeing, all 
Bore back to shun the threatened 

fall — 
The fragment which their giant foe 
Rent frofli the cliff and heaved to 

throw. 



Backward they bore ; — yet are there 
two 
For battle who prepare : 
No pause of dread Lord William 
knew 
Ere his good blade was bare ; 
And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, 
But ere the silken cord he drew, 
As hurled from Hecla's thunder, 
flew 
That ruin through the air ! 
Full on tlie outlaw's front it came, 
And all that late had human name. 
And human face, and human frame. 
That lived, and moved, and had free 

will 
To choose the path of good or ill. 

Is to its reckoning gone ; 
And naught of Wulfstane rests be- 
hind, 
Save that beneath that stone, 
Half buried in the dinted clay, 
A red and shapeless mass there lay 
Of mingled flesh and bone I 



As from the bosom of the sky 

The eagle darts amain, 
Three bounds from yonder summit 
high 

Placed Harold on the plain. 



As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, 

So fled the bridal train ; 
As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might 
I'he noble falcon dares the fight. 

But dares the fight in vam. 
So fought the bridegroom ; from his 

hand 
The Dane's rude mace has struck his 

brand. 
Its glittering fragments strew the 
sand. 
Its lord lies on the plain. 
Now, Heaven ! take noble William's 

part, 
And melt that yet unmelted heart. 
Or, ere his bridal hour depart, 

The hapless bridegroom 's slaiu ! 



Count Harold's frenzied rage is high. 
There is a death-fire in his eye. 
Deep furrows on his brow are trenched, 
His teeth areset, his hand isclenched. 
The foam upon his lip is white. 
His deadly arm is up to smite 1 
But,- as the mace aloft he swung, 
To stop the blow young Gunnar 

sprung, 
Around his master's knees he clung, 

And cried, " In mercy spare ! 
O think upon the words of fear 
Spoke by that visionary Seer, 
The crisis he foretold is here. 

Grant mercy, — or despair ! 
This word suspended Harold's mood. 
Yet still with arm upraised he stood, 
And visage like the headsman's rude 

That pauses for the sign. 
" O mark thee with the blessed 

rood," 
The page implored ; " speak word of 

good. 
Resist the fiend, or be subdued ! " 

He signed the cross divine, — 
Instant his eye hath human light. 
Less red, less keen, less fiercely 

bright ; 
His brow relaxed the obdurate frown. 
The fatal mace sinks gently down, 

He turns and strides away ; 
Yet oft, like revellers who leave 
Unfinished feast, looks back to grieve^ 
As if repenting the reprieve 

He granted to his prey. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



361 



fet still of forbearance one sign hath 

he given, 
And fierce Witikind's son made one 

step towards heaven. 

xviit. 

But though his dreaded footsteps 

part, 
Death is behind and shakes his dart ; 
Lord William on the plain is lying, 
Beside him Metelill seems dying ! — 
Bring odors, — essences in haste, — 
And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — 
But Jutta the elixir proves 
Ere pouring it for those she loves, — 
Then Walwayn's potion was not 

wasted, 
For when three drops the hag had 

tasted, 
So dismal was her yell, 
Each bird of evil omen woke, 
The raven gave his fatal croak, 
And shrieked the night-crow from 

the oak 
The screech-owl from the thicket 

broke, 



And fluttered down the dell ! 
So fearful was tht sound and stern, 
The slumbers of the full-gorged erne 
Were startled, and from furze and fern 

Of forest and of fell, 
The fox and famished wolf replied, 
(For wolves then prowled the Cheviot 

side,) 
From mountain head to mountain head 
The unhallowed sounds around were 

sped ; 
But when their latest echo fled. 
The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 



Such was the scene of blood and woes, 
With which the bridal morn arose 

Of William and of Metelill ; 
But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. 
The summer morn peeps dim and red 

Above the eastern hill. 
Ere, bright and fair, upon his road 
The King of Splendor walks abroad ,* 
So, when this cloud had passed away, 
Bright was the noontide of their day. 
And all serene its setting ray. 



CANTO SIXTH. 



AVell do I hope that this my minstrel tale 
Will tempt no traveller from southern fields, 
Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail, 
To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. 
Small confirmation its condition yields 
To Meneville's high lay. No towers are seen 
On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds. 
And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with green, 
Is naught remains to tell of what may there have been. 

And yet grave authors, with the no small waste 
Of their grave time, have dignified the spot 
By theories, to prove the fortress placed 
By Roman bands, to curb the invading Scot. 
Hutchinson, Horseley, Camden, I might quote. 
But rather choose the theory less civil 
Of boors, who, origin of things forgot, 
Refer still to the origin of evil. 
And for their master-mason choose that master-fiend the DeviL 



Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers 
That stout Count Harold bent his wondering gaze, 
When evening dew was on the heather flowers. 
And the last sunbeams made the mountain blaze. 



362 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 

And tinged the battlements of other days 
With the bright level light ere sinking down. 
Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys 
The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal frown. 
And on their blazons traced high marks of old renown. 

A wolf North Wales had on his armor-coat, 
And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag : 
Strath-Clwyd's strange emblem was a stranded boat, 
Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag : 
A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag ; 
A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 
Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag 
Surmounted by a cross, — such signs were borne 
Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and worn. 

in. 

These scanned, Count Harold sought the castle door. 
Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; 
Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore 
The unobstructed passage to essay. 
More strong than armed warders in array, 
And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar, 
Sat in the portal Terror and Dismay, 
While Superstition, who forbade to war 
With foes of other mould than mortal clay, 
Cast spells across the gate, and barred the onward way. 

Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank 
The feebly fastened gate was inward pushed, 
And, as it oped, through that emblazoned rank 

' Of antique shields, the wind of evening rushed - 

With sound most like a groan, and then was hushed. 
Is none w-ho on such spot such sounds could hear 
But to his heart the blood had faster rushed ; 
Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear, — 

It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. 



Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced 
Within the castle, that of danger showed ; 
For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, 
As through their precincts the adventurers trode. 
The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad, 
Each tower presenting to their scrutiny 
A hall in which a king might make abode. 
And fast beside, garnished both proud and high. 
Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. 

As if a bridal there of late had been. 
Decked stood the table in each gorgeous hall ; 
And yet it was two hundred years, I ween. 
Since date of that unhallowed festival. 
Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all 
Of tarnished gold, or silver nothing clear. 
With throne begilt, and canopy of pall. 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



363 



And tapestry clothed the walls with fragments sear, — 
Frail as the spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. 



In every bower, as round a heaise, was hung 
A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed, 
And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung 
The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; 
Barbaric ornaments around were spread, 
Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious stone, 
And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head ; 
While grinned, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, 
The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrown. 

For these were they who, drunken with delight, 
On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, 
For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light, 
Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. 
For human bliss and woe in the frail thread 
Of human life are all so closely twined, 
That till the shears of Fate the texture shred. 
The close succession cannot be disjoined. 
Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind. 



But where the work of vengeance had been done. 
In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; 
There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, 
Still in the posture as to death when dight. 
For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; 
And that, as one who struggled long in dying; 
One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; 
One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy crying ; 
One lay across the door, as killed in act of flying. 

The stem Dane smiled this charnel-house to see, — 
For his chafed thought returned to Metelill ; — 
And, " Well," he said, " hath woman's perfidy. 
Empty as air, as water volatile, 
Been here avenged. The origin of ill 
Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine saith ; 
Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill 
Can show example where a woman's breath 
Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith." 



The minstrel -boy half smiled, half 

sighed, 
A.nd his half-filling eyes he dried, 
^.nd said : " The theme I should but 

wrong, 
Unless it were my dying song, 
(Our Scalds have said, m dying hour 
The Northern harp has treble power,) 



Else could I tell of woman's faith, 

Defying danger, scorn, and death. 

Firm was that faith, — as diamond 
stone 

Pure and unflawed, — her love un- 
known. 

And unrequited ; — firm and pure, 

Her stainless faith could all endure ; 

From clime to clime, — from place to 
place, — 



364 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



Through want) and danger, and dis- 
grace, 
A wanderer's wayward steps could 

trace. 
All this she did, and guerdon none 
Required, save that her burial-stone 
Should make at length the secret 

known, 
' Thus hath a faithful woman.done.' — 
Not in each breast such truth is laid, 
But Eivir was a Danish maid." 



" Thou art a wild enthusiast," said 
Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid ; 
And yet, young Gunnar, I will own 
Hers were a faith to rest upon. 
But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone, 
And all resembling her are gone. 
What maid e'er showed such constancy 
In plighted faith, like thine to me ? 
But couch thee, boy ; the darksome 

shade 
Falls thickly round, nor be dismayed 

Because the dead are by. 
They were as we ; our little day 
O'erspent, and we shall be as they. 
Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid, 
Thy couch upon my mantle made, 
That thou mayst think, should fear in- 
vade. 
Thy master slumbers nigh." 
Thus couched they in that dread abode. 
Until the beams of dawning glowed. 



An altered man Lord Harold rose. 
When he beheld that dawn unclose, — 

There 's trouble in his eyes. 
And traces on his brow and cheek 
Of mingled awe and wonder speak : 
"My page," he said, " arise ; — 
Leave we this place, my page." No 

more 
He uttered till the castle door 
They crossed, — but there he paused 

and said, 
"My wildness hath awaked the 

dead, — 
Disturbed the sacred tomb ! 
Methought this night I stood on 

high, 
Where Hecla roars in middle sky. 
And in her caverned gulfs could spy 



The central place of doom ; 
And there before my mortal evB 
Souls of the dead came flitting by. 
Whom fiends, with many a fiendi*^ 
cry, 

Bore to that evil den I 
My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain 
Was wildered as the elvish train. 
With shriek and howl, dragged ot^ 
amain 

Those who had late been men. 



" With haggard eyes and streaming 

hair, 
Jutta the Sorceress was there, 
And there passed Wulfstane, lately 

slain, 
All crushed and foul with bloody 

stain. 
More had I seen, but that uprose 
A whirlwind wild, and swept the 

snows ; 
And with such sound as when at 

need 
A champion spurs his horse to speed, 
Three armed knights rush on, who 

lead 
Caparisoned a sable steed. 
Sable their harness, and there came 
Through their closed visors sparks of 

flame. 
The first proclaimed, in sounds of 

fear, 
' Harold the Dauntless, welcome 

here ! ' 
The next cried, ' Jubilee ! we 've won 
Count Witikind the Waster's son ! * 
And the third rider sternly spoke, 
' Mount, in the name of Zerne- 

bock ! 
From us, O Harold, were thy 

powers, — 
Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are 

ours ; 
Nor think, a vassal thou of hell. 
With hell can strive.' The fiend 

spoke true ! 
My inmost soul the summons knew, 

As captives know the knell 
That says the headsman's swor-d i^ 

bare. 
And, with an accent of despair. 
Commands them quit their cell 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



365 



I felt resistance was in vain, 

My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en, 

My hand was on the fatal mane, 

When to my rescue sped 
That Palmer's visionary form, 
And — like the passing of a storm • 

The demons yelled and fled 1 



" His sable cowl, flung back, revealed 
The features it before concealed ; 

And, Gunnar, I could find 
In him whose counsels strove to stay 
So oft my course on wilful way. 

My father Witikind ! 
Doomed for his sins, and doomed for 

mine, 
A wanderer upon earth to pine 
Until his son shall turn to grace. 
And smooth for him a resiing- 

place. 
Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain 
This world of wretchedness and pain : 
1 '11 tame my wilful heart to live 
In peace, — to pity and forgive, — 
And thou, for so the Vision said. 
Must in thy lord's repentance aia. 
Thy mother was a prophetess, 
He said, who by her skill could guess 
How close the fatal textures join 
Which knit thy thread of life with 

mine ; 
Then, dark, he hinted of disguise 
She framed to cheat too curious eyes, 
That not a moment might divide 
Thy fated footsteps from my side. 
Methought while thus my sire did 

teach, 
I caught the meaning of his speech. 
Yet seems its purport doubtful now." 
His hand then sought his thoughtful 

brow. 
Then first he marked, that in the 

tower 
His glove was left at waking hour. 



Trembling at first, and deadly pale. 
Had Gunnar heard the visioned tale ; 
But when he learned the dubious 

close. 
He blushed like any opening rose, 
And, glad to hide his telltale cheek. 
Hied back that glove of mail to seek ; 



When soon a shriek of deadly dread 
Summoned his master to his aid. 



What sees Count Harold in that 
bower, 

So late his resting-place? 
The semblance of the Evil Power, 

Adored by all his race ! 
Odin in living form stood there. 
His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; 
For plumy crest a meteor shed 
Its gloomy radiance o'er his head, 
Yet veiled its haggard majesty 
To the wild lightnings of his eyQ. 
Such height was his, as when in stone 
O'er Upsal's giant altar shown ; 

So flowed his hoary beard ; 
Such was his lance of mountain-pine, 
Sodid hisseven-lold buckler shine ; — • 

But when his voice he reared, 
Deep, without harshness, slow and 

strong, 
The powerful accents rolled along. 
And, while he spoke, his hand was laid 
On captive Gunnar's shrinking head. 



"Harold," he said, "what rage is 

thine, 
To quit the worship of thy line. 

To leave thy Warrior-God? 
With me is glory or disgrace. 
Mine is the onset and the chase, 
Embattled hosts before my face 

Are withered by a nod. 
Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat 
Deserved by many a dauntless leat, 
Among the heroes of thy line, 
Eric and fiery Thorarine? 
Thou wilt not. Only I can give 
The joys for which the valiant live. 
Victory and vengeance, — only I 
Can give the joys for which they die, 
The immortal tilt, — the banquet full. 
The brimming draught from foeman's 

skull. 
Mine art thou, witness this thy glove. 
The faithful pledge of vassal's love." 



"Tempter," said Harold,firmofheart, 
" I charge thee, hence 1 whateei 
thou art. 



366 



HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 



I do defy thee, — and resist 

The kindhng frenzy of my breast. 

Waked by thy words ; and of my 

mail, 
Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor 

nail, 
Shall rest with thee, — that youth re- 
lease, 
And God, or Demon, part in 

peace." 
"Eivir," the Shape replied, "is 

mine, 
Marked in the birth-hour with my 

sign. 
Think'st thou that priest with drops 

of spray 
Could wash that blood-red mark 

away? 
Or that a borrowed sex and name 
Can abrogate a Godhead's claim ?" 
Thrilled this strange speech through 

Harold's brain, 
He clenched his teeth in high dis- 
dain. 
For not his new-born faith subdued 
Some tokens of his ancient mood. 
" Now, by the hope so lately given 
Of better trust and purer heaven, 
I will assail thee, fiend I " Then 

rose 
His mace, and with a storm of blows 
The mortal and the Demon close. 



Smoke rolled above, fire flashed 

around. 
Darkened the sky and shook the 
ground ; 

But not the artillery of he'l, 
The bickering lightning, nor the 

rock 
Of turrets to the earthquake's sliock, 

Could Harold's courage quell. 
Sternly the Dane his purpose kept, 
Andblowson blows resistless heaped, 

Till quailed that Demon Form, 
And — for his power to hurt or kill 
Was bounded by a higher will — 

Evanished in the storm. 
Nor paused the Champion of the 

North, 
But raised, and bore his Eivir forth. 
From that wild scene of fiendish strife. 
To light, to liberty, and life 1 



He placed her on a bank of moss, 

A silver runnel bubbled by. 
And new-born thoughts his soul b^ 

gross. 
And tremors yet unknown across 

His stubborn sinews fly, 
The while with timid hand the dew 
Upon her brow and neck he threw. 
And marked how life with rosy hue 
On her pale cheek revived anew. 

And glimmered in her eye. 
Inly he said : " That silken tress. — 
What blindness mme that could not 

guess 1 
Or how could page's rugged dress 

That bosom's pride belie? 
O, dull of heart, through wild and 

wave 
In search of blood and death to rave> 

With such a partner nigh ! " 



Then in the mirrored pool he peered. 
Blamed his rough locks and shaggy 

beard, 
The stains of recent conflict cleared,- ■ 

And thus the champion proved. 
That he fears now who never fearec\ 

And loves who never loved. 
And Eivir, — life is on her cheek. 
And yet she will not move or speak 

Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; 
Perchance it loves, that half-shut ey , 
Through its long fringe reserved ai d 

shy, 
Affection's opening dawn to spy : 
And the deep blush, which bidsivs 

dye 
O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, 
Speaks shamefacedness and 
hope. 

XIX. 

But vainly seems the Dane to seek 
For terms his new-born love to 

speak, — 
For words, save those of wrath and 

wrong, 
Till now were strangers to his toi.gue ; 
So, when he raised the blushin;? 

maid. 
In blunt and honest t&riiis he s&lA, 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 



367 



('T were well that maids, when lovers 

woo, 
Heard none more soft, were all as 

true,) 
*' Eivir ! since thou for many a day 
Hast followed Harold's wayward way, 
It is but meet that in the line 
Of after-life I follow thine. 



To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide, 
And we will grace his altar's side, 
A Christian knight and Christian 
bride ; 
And of Witikind's son shall the marvel 

be said. 
That on the same morn he was chris- 
tened and wed." 



CONCLUSION. 

And now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? 
And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ? 
No need to turn the page, as if 't were lead. 
Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. 
Be cheered — 't is ended — and I will not borrow, 
To try thy patience more, one anecdote 
From Barthrline, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. 
Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote 
A tale six cantos long, yet scorned to add a note. 



BALLADS, 

TRANSLATED OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, &C. 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 

IMITATED FROM THE " LEN0R6 " OF 



From heavy dreams fair Helen rose. 
And eyed the dawning red : 

" Alas, my love, thou tarriest long i 
O art thou false or dead ?" 



With gallant Fred'rick's princely 
power 

He sought the bold Crusade ; 
But not a word from Judah's wars 

Told Helen how he sped. 



With Pajmim and with Saracen 
At length a truce was made. 

And ev'ry knight returned to dry 
The tears his love had shed. 



Our gallant host was homeward bound 

With many a song of joy ; 
Green waved the laurel in each plume. 

The badge of victory. 



And old and young, and sire and son. 
To meet them crowd the Vvay, 

With shouts, and mirth, and melody. 
The debt of love to pay. 

VI. 

Full many a maid her true-love met, 
And sobbed in his embrace, 

And fliitt'ring joy in tears and smiles 
Arrayed full many a face. 



Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; 

She sought the host in vain ; 
For none could tell her William's fate. 

If faithless, or if slain. 



368 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN-. 



The martial band is past and gone ; 

She /ends her raven hair, 
And m distraction's bitter mood 

She weeps with wild despair. 



" O rise, my child," her mother said, 
" Nor sorrow thus in vain ; 

A perjured lover's fleeting heart 
No tears recall again." 



" O mother, what is gone, is gone, 
What 's lost forever lorn ; 

Death, death alone can comfort me ; 
O had I ne'er been born 1 



" O break, my heart, O break at once ! 

Drink my life-blood. Despair ! 
No joy remains on earth for me, 

For me in heaven no share." 



" O enter not in judgment, Lord ! " 

The pious mother prays ; 
" Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! 

She knows not what she says. 



" O say thy pater-noster, child ! 

O turn to God and grace ! 
His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, 

Can change thy bale to bliss." 



" O mother, mother, what is bliss ? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
My William's love was heaven on earth, 

Without it earth is hell. 



" Why should I pray to ruthless Heav- 
en, 

Since my loved William 's slain ? 
I only prayed for William's sake. 

And all my prayers were vain." 

XVI. 

" O take the sacrament, my child. 
And check these tears that flow ; 

By resignation's humble prayer, 
O hallowed be thy woe I " 



*' No sacrament can quench this fire, 
Or slake this scorching pain ; 

No sacrament can bid the dead 
Arise and live again. 

XVIII. 

" O break, my heart, O break at once ! 

Be thou my god, Despair ! 
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, 

And vain each fruitless prayer." 

XIX. 

" O enter not in judgment. Lord, 
With thy frail child of clay ! 

She knows not what her tongue has 
spoke ; 
Impute it not, I pray ! 

XX. 

" Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, 
And turn to God and grace ; 

Well can devotion's heavenly glow 
Convert thy bale to bliss." 



" O mother, mother, what is bliss? 

O mother, what is bale ? 
Without my William what were heaven. 

Or with him what were hell? " 



Wild she arraigns the eternal doom. 
Upbraids each sacred power. 

Till, spent, she sought her silent room, 
All in the lonely tower. 

XXIII. 

She beat her breast, she wrung herhands. 

Till sun and day were o"er, 
And through the glimmering lattice 
shone 

The twinkling of the star. 

XXIV. 

Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell 
That o'er the moat was hung ; 

And, clatter ! clatter ! on its boards 
The hoof of courser rung. 

XXV. 

The clank of echoing steel was heard 

As off the rider bounded ; 
And slowly on the winding stair 

A heavy footstep sounded. 



WILLIAM AND HELEN. 



369 



XXVI. 

And hark ! and hark ! a knock — Tap 1 
tap ! 

A rustling stifled noise ; — 
Door-latch and tinkling staples ring; — 

At length a whispering voice. 

XXVII. 

" Awake, awake, arise, my love I 
How, Helen, dost thou fare ? 

Wak'st thou, or sleep'st 1 laugh'st 
thou, or weep'st ? 
Hast thought on me, my fair? " 

XXVIII. 

" My love ! my love ! — so late by 
night ! — 

I waked, I wept for thee : 
Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; 

Where, WiUiam, couldst thou be? " 

XXIX. 

" We saddle late — from Hungary 

I rode since darkness fell ; 
And to its bourne we both return 

Before the matin-bell." 



" O rest this night within my arms, 
And warm thee in their fold ! 

Chill howls through hawthorn bush the 
wind : — 
My love is deadly cold." 

XXXI. 

" Let the wind howl through hawthorn 
bush ! 

This night we must away ; 
The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; 

I cannot stay till day. 



" Busk, busk, and boune 1 Thou 
mount'st behind 

Upon my black barb steed : 
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles, 

We haste to bridal bed." 

XXXIII. 

" To-night — to-night a hundred 
miles ! 
O dearest William, stay ! 
The bell strikes twelve — dark, dismal 
hour ! 
O wait, my love, till day 1 " 
24 



XXXIV. 

" Look here, look here — the moon 
shines clear — 

Full fast I ween we ride ; 
Mount and away ! for ere the day 

We reach our bridal bed. 

XXXV. 

*' The black barb snorts, the bridle 
rings ; 
Haste, busk, and boune, and seat 
thee ! 
The feast is made, the chamber spread. 
The bridal guests await thee." 

XXXVI. 

Strong love prevailed ; she busks, she 
bounes. 

She mounts the barb behind, 
And round her darling William's waist 

Her lily arms she twined. 

XXXVII. 

And, hurry ! hurry 1 off they rode, 

As fast as fast might be ; 
Spurned from the courser's thundering 
heels 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XXXVIII. 

And on the right, and on the left. 
Ere they could snatch a view, 

Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and 
plain. 
And cot and castle flew. 

XXXIX. 

"Sit fast — dost fear? — The moon 
shines clear — 
Fleet goes my barb — keep hold ! 
Fear'st thou? " " O no ! " she faintly 
said ; 
But why so stern and cold? 

XL. 

" What yonder rings ? what yonder 
sings ? 
Why shrieks the owlet gray ? " 
" 'T is death-bells' clang, 't is funeral 
song, 
The body to the clay. 

XLI. 

" With song and clang, at morrow's 
dawn, 
Ye may inter the dead : 



370 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAV. 



To-night I ride, with my young bride, 
To deck our bridal bed. 



" Come with thy choir, thou coffined 
guest, 
To swell our nuptial song ! 
Come, priest, to bless our marriage 
feast ! 
Come all, come all along ! " 

XL 1 1 1. 

Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the 
bier ; 

The shrouded corpse arose : 
And, hurry ! hurry ! all the train 

The thundering steed pursues. 

XLIV. 

And, forward ! forward ! on they go ; 

High snorts the straining steed ; 
Thick pants the rider's laboring 
breath. 

As headlong on they speed. 



*' O William, why this savage haste ? 

And where thy bridal bed ? " 
" 'T is distant far, low, damp, and chill. 

And narrow, trustless maid." 

XLVI. 

*' No room for me ? " " Enough for 
both ; — 
Speed, speed, my barb, thy course ! " 
O'er thundering bridge, through boil- 
ing surge, 
He drove the furious horse. 



Tramp I tramp ! along the land they 
rode, 

Splash 1 splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, 

The flashing pebbles flee. 

XLVIII. 

Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower I 

On right and left fled past how fast 
Each city, town, and tower ! 

XLIX. 

"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon 
shines clear, 
Dost fear to ride with me ? 



Hurrah ! hurrah 1 the dead can 
ride 1 " 
" O William, let them be 1 

L. 

" See there, see there ! What yonder 
swings 

And creaks 'mid whistling rain ? " 
" Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel ; 

A murderer in his chain. 



" Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : 

To bridal bed we ride ; 
And thou shalt prance a fetter dance 

Before me and my bride." 



And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash ! 

The wasted form descends ; 
And fleet as wind through hasiel bush 

The wild career attends. 



Tramp I tramp ! along the land they 
rode. 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 
The scourge is red, the spur drops 
blood. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

LIV. 

How fled what moonshine faintly 
showed ! 

How fled what darkness hid ! 
How fled the earth beneath their feet, 

The heaven above their head ! 



"Dost fear? dost fear? The moon 
shines clear, 

And well the dead can ride ; 
Does faithful Helen fear for them ? " 

" O leave in peace the dead 1 " 

LVl. 

" Barb I Barb ! methinks I hear the 
cock ; 

The sand will soon be nm : ^ 

Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning air ; \ 

The race is wellnigh done." 

Lvn. 
Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they 
rode. 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN 



yji- 



The scourge is red, the spur drops 
blood. 
The flashing pebbles flee. 

LVIII. 

" Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ; 

The bride, the bride is come ; 
And soon we reach the bridal bed. 

For, Helen, here 's my home." 

LIX. 

Reluctant on its rusty hinge 

Revolved an iron door. 
And by the pale moon's setting beam 

Were seen a church and tower. 

LX. 

With many a shriek and cry whiz round 
The birds of midnight scared ; 

And rustling like autumnal leaves 
Unhallowed ghosts were heard. 

LXI. 

O'er many a tomb and tombstone pale 

He spurred the fiery horse, 
Till sudden at an open grave 

He checked the wondrous course. 

LXII. 

The falling gauntlet quits the rein, 
Down drops the casque of steel, 

The cuirass leaves his shrinking side, 
The spur his gory heel. 

LXIII. 

The eyes desert the naked skull, 
The mould'ring flesh the bone, 

Till Helen's lily arms entwine 
A ghastly skeleton. 

LXIV. 

The furious barb snorts fire and foam. 

And, with a fearful bound. 
Dissolves at once in empty air, 

And leaves her on the ground. 

LXV. 

Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, 

Pale spectres flit along, 
Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, 

And howl the funeral song ; 

LXVI. 

" E'en when the heart 's with anguish 
cleft. 

Revere the doom of Heaven, 
Her soul is from her body reft ; 

Her spirit be forgiven 1 " 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 

IMITATED FROM BURGER'S " WILDE 
JAGER." 

The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 
To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! 

His fiery courser snuffs the morn, 
And thronging serfs their lord pursue. 

The eager pack, from couples freed. 
Dash through the bush, the brier, the 
brake ; 
While answering hound, and horn, and 
steed. 
The mountain echoes startling wake. 

The beams of God's own hallowed day 
Had painted yonder spire with gold, 

And, calling sinful man to pray. 

Loud, long, and deep the bell had 
tolled ; 

But still the Wildgrave onward rides ", 
Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! 

When, spurring from opposing sides. 
Two Stranger Horsemen join the 
train. 

Who was each Stranger, left and right, 
Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; 

The right-hand steed was silver white. 
The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 

The right-hand Horseman, young and 
fair. 

His smile was like the morn of May ; 
The left, from eye of tawny glare, 

Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 

He waved his huntsman's cap on high. 
Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble 
lord ! 

What sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
To match the princely chase, afford ? " 

" Cease thy loud bugle's clanging 
knell," 

Cried the fair youth, with silver voice ; 
" And for devotion's choral swell, 

Exchange the rude unhallowed noise^ 

" To-day, the ill-omened chase fo\ bear, 
Yon bell yet summons to the fan*» : 

To-day the Warning Spirit hear. 
To-morrow thou mayst mouri* in 
vain." 



372 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



" Away, and sweep the glades along ! " 

The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; 
"To muttering monks leave matin-song, 

And bells, and books, and mysteries." 
The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed. 

And, launching forward with a bound, 
" Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, 

Would leave the jovial horn and 
hound ? 
" Hence, if our manly sport offend ! 

With pious fools go chant and pray : 
Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed 
friend ; 

Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away ! " 

The Wildgrave spurred his courser 
light. 
O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill; 
And on the left, and on the right, 
Each Stranger Horseman followed 
still. 
Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, 
A stag more white than mountain 
snow ; 
And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
" Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! " 

A heedless wretch has crossed the way ; 
He gasps, the thundering hoofs be- 
low ; — 
But, live who can, or die who may. 
Still, " Forward, forward ! " on they 
go. 
See, where yon simple fences meet, 
A field with Autumn's blessings 
crowned ; 
See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
A husbandman with toil embrowned : 

" O mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 

Spare the poor's pittance," was his 
cry, 
"Earned by the sweat these brows 
have poured. 
In scorching hour of fierce July." 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, 
But furious holds the onward way. 

" Away, thou hound ! so basely born, 
Or dread the scourge's echoing 
blow 1 " 

Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, 
" Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! " 



So said, so done : — A single bound 
Clears the poor laborer's humble 
pale ; 
Wild follows man, and horse, and 
hound. 
Like dark December's stormy gale. 

And man and horse, and hound and 
horn. 
Destructive sweep the field along ; 
While, joying o'er the wasted corn. 
Fell Famme marks the maddening 
throng. 
Again uproused, the timorous prey 
Scours moss and moor, and holt and 
hill ; 
Hard run, he feels his strength decay. 
And trusts for life his simple skill. 

Too dangerous solitude appeared ; 

He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
Amid the flock's domestic herd 

His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 

O'er moss and moor, and holt and 
hill, 
His track the steady bloodhounds 
trace ; 
O'er moss and moor, unwearied still. 
The furious Earl pursues the chase. 

Full lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
" O spare, thou noble Baron, spare 

These herds, a widow's little all ; 
These flocks, an orphan's fleecy 
care ! " 

Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads. 
The left still cheering to the prey ; 

The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds. 
But furious keeps the onward way. 

•' Unmannered dog ! To stop my sport 

Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, 
Though human spirits, of thy sort. 

Were tenants of these carrion 
kine 1 " 
Again he winds his bugle-horn, 

" Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! " 
And through the herd, in ruthless scorn. 

He cheers his furious hounds to go. 

In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 

Down sinks their mangled herdsman 
near ; 
The murderous cries the stag appall, -x 

Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 



THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 



373 



With blood besmeared, and white with 
foam, 

While big the tears of anguish pour, 
He seeks, amid the forest's gloom, 

The humble hermit's hallowed bower. 

But man and horse, and horn and hound. 
Fast rattling on his traces go ; 

The sacred chapel rung around 
With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho I '' 

All mild, amid the rout profane. 
The holy hermit poured his prayer ; 

" Forbear with blood God's house to 
stain ; 
Revere His altar, and forbear ! 

" The meanest brute has rights to plead, 
Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride, 

Draw vengeance on the ruthless 
head : — 
Be warned at length, and turn aside." 

Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 

The Black, wild whooping, points 
the prey ; — 
Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds, 

But frantic keeps the forward way. 

" Holy or not, or right or wrong. 
Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn ; 

Not sainted martyrs' sacred song. 
Not God himself, shall make me 
turn ! " 

He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
" Hark forward, forward, holla, 
ho ! " — 

But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne. 
The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 

And horse and man, and horn and 
hound. 

And clamor of the chase, was gone ; 
For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, 

A deadly silence reigned alone. 

Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; 

He strove in vain to wake his horn. 
In vain to call ; for not a sound 

Could from his a.nxious lips be borne. 

He listens for his trusty hounds ; 

No distant baying reached his ears ; 
His courser, rooted to the ground, 

The quickening spur unmindful bears. 

Still dark and darker frown the shades. 
Dark as the darkness of the grave ; 



And not a sound the still invades. 
Save what a distant torrent gave. 

High o'er the sinner's humbled head 
At length the solemn silence broke ; 

And, from a cloud of swarthy red, 
The awful voice of thunder spoke. 

"Oppressor of creation fair ! 

Apostate Spirits' hardened tool ! 
Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor I 

The measure of thy cup is full. 

" Be chased forever through the wood ; 

Forever roam the affrighted wild : 
And let thy fate instruct the proud, 

God's meanest creature is his child.* 

'T was hushed : — One flash, of sombre 
glare. 
With yellow tinged the forests brown ; 
Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, 
And horror chilled each nerve and 
bone. 

Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; 

A rising wind began to sing ; 
And louder, louder, louder stUl, 

Brought storm and tempest on its 
wing. 

Earth heard the call ; her entrails rend ; 

From yawning rifts, with many a 
yell. 
Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend 

The misbegotten dogs of hell. 

What ghastly Huntsman next arose. 
Well may I ^uess, but dare not tell ; 

His eye like midnight lightning glows, 
His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 

The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and 
thorn. 

With many a shriek of helpless woe ; 
Behind him hound, and horse, and horn. 

And, " Hark away, and holla, ho 1 " 

With wild despair's reverted eye. 
Close, close behind, he marks the 
throng. 

With bloody fangs, and eager cry ; 
In frantic fear he scours along. 

Still, still shall last the dreadful chase. 
Till time itself shall have an end : 

By day, they scour earth's caverned 
space, 
At midnight's witching hour, ascend. 



374 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN-. 



This 13 the horn, and hound, and horse, 
That oft the lated peasant hears ; 

Appalled, he signs the frequent cross. 
When the wild din invades his ears. 



The wakeful priest oft drops a tear, 
For human pride, for human woe, 

When, at his midnight mass, he hears 
The infernal cry of, " Holla, ho ! " 



THE FIRE-KING. 

' The blessing's of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him." — Eastern Tale. 

Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, 
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear ; 
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 

O see you that castle, so strong and so high ? 
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 
And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, 
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand ? 

" Now palmer, gray palmer, O tell unto me. 
What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie ? 
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? 
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land ? " 

" O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 

For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ; 

And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 

For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have won." 

A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 

O'er the palmer's gray locks the fair chain has she flung ; 

"O palmer, gray palmer, this chain be thy fee, 

For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie. 

" And palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 

O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ? 

When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rushed on, 

O saw ye hira foremost on Mount Lebanon ? " 

" O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 

O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 

Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high ; 

But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 

"The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls, 
It leaves of your castle but levin-scorched walls ; 
The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is gone ; 
Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon." 

O she 's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
And she 's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need ; 
And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land, 
To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. 

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he ; 
A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, 
The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 



THE FIRE -KING. 374 

*'0 Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be, 
Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee : 
Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take ; 
And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. 

*' And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore. 
Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake; 
And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. 

" And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand. 
To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land ; 
For my lord and my love then Count Albert I '11 take. 
When all this is accomplished for Zulema's sake." 

He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword. 
Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, 
For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 

And in the dread cavern, deep, deep underground. 
Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround. 
He has watched until daybreak, but sight saw he none. 
Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. 

Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed. 
Sore murmured the priests as on Albert they gazed ; 
They searched all his garments, and, under his weeds, 
They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 

Again in the cavern, deep, deep underground. 

He watched the lone night, while the winds whistled round ; 

Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, 

The flame burned unmoved, and naught else did he spy. 

Loud murmured the priests, and amazed was the King, 
While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing ; 
They searched Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast 
Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impressed. 

The priests they erase it with care and with pain. 
And the recreant returned to the cavern again ; 
But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : 
It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! 

High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered and beat, 
And he turned him five steps, half resolved to retreat; 
But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was gone. 
When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon. 

Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce trode. 
When the winds from the four points of heaven were abroaii. 
They made each steel portal to rattle and ring. 
And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- King. 

Full sore rocked the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. 
The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high ; 
In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
The dreadful approach oi the Monarch of Flame. 



J76 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 

Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in form, 
His breath it was hghtning, his voice it was storm ; 
I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, 
When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. 

In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmered through smoke, 
And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he spoke : 
" With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no more. 
Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." 

The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon ; and see ! 
The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee : 
The thunders grow distant, and faint gleam the fires, 
As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. 

Count Albert has armed him the Paynim among, 
Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong ; 
And the Red-cross waxed faint, and the Crescent came on. 
From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. 

From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, 

The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave ; 

Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint John, 

With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. 

The war-cymbals clattered, the trumpets replied, 
The lances were couched, and they closed on each side ; 
And horseman and horses Count Albert o'erthrew. 
Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto. 

Against the charmed blade which Count Albert did wield. 
The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross shield ; 
But a Page thrust him forward the Monarch before, 
And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 

So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stooped low 
Before the crossed shield, to his steel saddle-bow ; 
And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head, — 
" Bontie Grace, Notre Dame I " he unwittingly said. 

Sore sighed the charmed sword, for its virtue was o'er. 
It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing 
Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. 

He clenched his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand ; 
He stretched, with one buffet, that Page on the strand ; 
As back from the stripling the broken casque rolled. 
You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. 

Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 

On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood-clotted hair ; 

For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood, 

And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 

The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; 
And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead 
From Bethsaida's fountains to Nanhthali's head. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 



377 



The battle is over on Betnsaida's plain, — 
O, who is yon Paynim lies stretched 'mid the slain? 
And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee ? — 
O, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie ! 

The lady was buried in Salem's blessed bound. 
The Count he was left to the vulture and hound ; 
Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring ; 
His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. 

Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, 
How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it fell : 
And lords and gay ladies have sighed, 'mid their glee, 
At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. 



FREDERICK AND ALICE. 
[1801.] 

Frederick leaves the land of France, 
Homeward hastes his steps to meas- 
ure. 

Careless casts the parting glance 
On the scene of former pleasure. 

Joying in his prancing steed. 
Keen to prove his untried blade, 

Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 
Over mountain, moor, and glade. 

Helpless, ruined, left forlorn, 

Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, 

Hope, and peace, and honor flown. 

Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! 

See, the tear of anguish flows ! 
Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 

Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 

Wild she cursed, and wild she prayed ; 

Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
Death in pity brought his aid, 

As the village bell struck four. 

Far from her, and far from France, 
Faithless Frederick onward rides ; 

Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
Mantling o'er the mountains' sides. 

Heard ye not the boding sound, 
As the tongue of yonder tower, 

Slowly, to the hills around. 
Told the fourth, the fated hour ? 

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, 
Yet no cause of dread appears ; 



Bristles high the rider's hair. 

Struck with strange mysterious fears 

Desperate, as his terrors rise. 
In the steed the spur he hides ; 

From himself in vain he flies ; 
Anxious, restless, on he rides. 

Seven long days, and seven long nights. 
Wild he wandered, woe the while ! 

Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, 
Urge his footsteps many a mile. 

Dark the seventh sad night descends ; 

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour; 
While the deafening thunder lends 

All the terrors of its roar. 

Weary, wet, and spent with toil. 

Where his head shall Frederick hidef 

Where, but in yon ruined aisle, 
By the lightning's flash descried. 

To the portal, dank and low, 

Fast his steed the wanderer bound : 

Down a ruined staircase slow. 
Next his darkling way he wound. 

Long drear vaults before him lie ! 

Glimmering lights are seen to glide I 
" Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! 

Deign a sinner's steps to guide ! ** 

Often lost their quivering beam. 
Still the lights move slow before, 

Till they rest their ghastly gleam ' 
Right against an iron door. 

Thundering voices from within. 
Mixed with peals of lau.2;hter, rose; 

As they fell, a solemn strain 

Lent its wild and wondrous close 1 



378 



BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN: 



Midst the din, he seemed to hear 
Voice of friends, by death removed ; — 

Well he knew that solenm air, 
'T was the lay that Alice loved. 

Hark ! for now a solemn knell 

Four times on the still night broke ; 

Four times, at its deadened swell, 
Echoes from the ruins spoke. 

As the lengthened clangors die, 

Slowly opes the iron door ! 
Straight a banquet met his eye. 

But a funeral's form it wore 1 

Coffins for the seats extend ; 

All with black the board was spread ; 
Girt by parent, brother, friend. 

Long since numbered with the dead ! 

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound, 
Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 

All arose, with thundering sound ; 
All the expected stranger greet. 

High their meagre arms they wave. 
Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — 

" Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
Perjured, bid the light farewell ! " 

THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 

[1818.] 

'T WAS when among our linden-trees 
The bees had housed in swarms 

(And gray-haired peasants say that these 
Betoken foreign arms), 

Then looked we down to Willisow, 

The land was all in flame ; 
We knew the Archduke Leopold 

With all his army came. 

The Austrian nobles made their vqw, 
So hot their heart and bold, 

" On Switzer carles we '11 trample now. 
And slay both young and old." 

With clarion loud, and banner proud, 

From Zurich on the lake, 
In martial pomp and fair crr?y. 

Their onward march they m»ke. 

" Now list; ye lowland nob'es all, — 

Ye seek the mountain strand, 
V-ox ^«*)t ye- ?h''<. fJ'-a.l' i^ "our lot 



" I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins, 

Before ye farther go ; 
A skirmish in Helvetian hills 

May send your souls to woe." 

" But where now shall we find a priest 
Our shrift that he may hear ? " 

" The Switzer priest has ta'en the field. 
He deals a penance drear. 

" Right heavily upon your head 

He '11 lay his hand of steel ; 
And with his trusty partisan 

Your absolution deal." 
'T was on a Monday morning then, 

The corn was steeped in dew, 
And merry maids had sickles ta'en, 

When the host to Sempach drew. 

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 

Together have they joined ; 
The pith and core of manhood stem, 

Was none cast looks behind. 
It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 

And to the Duke he said, 
" Yon little band of brethren true 

Will meet us undismayed." 

" O Hare-castle, thou heart of hare ! " 

Fierce Oxenstern replied. 
" Shalt see then how the game will fare," 

The taunted knight replied. 

There was lacing then of helmets bright. 

And closing ranks amain ; 
The peaks they hewed from their boot- 
points 

Might wellnigh load a wain. 

And thus they to each other said ; 

" Yon handful down to hew 
Will be no boastful tale to tell. 

The peasants are so few." 

The gallant Swiss Confederates there 

They prayed to God aloud, 
And he displayed his rainbow fair 

Against a swarthy cloud. 
Then heart and pulse throbbed more 
and more 

With courage firm and high, 
And down the good Confederates bot< 

On the Austrian chivalry. 

The Austrian Lion 'gan to growl, 
And toss his mane and tail ; 

And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt, 
Went whistling forth like hail. 



THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 



379 



J^ance, pike, anrihalbert, mingled there, 
The game was nothing sweet ; 

The boughs of many a stately tree 
Lay shivered at their feet. 

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, 
So close their spears they laid ; 

It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, 
Who to his comrades said : 

" I have a virtuous wife at home, 

A wife and infant son ; 
I leave them to my country's care, — 

This field shall soon be won. 

" These nobles lay their spears right 
thick, 

And keep full firm array. 
Yet shall my charge their order break. 

And make my brethren way." 

He rushed against the Austrian band, 

In desperate career, 
And, with his body, breast, and hand, 

Bore down each hostile spear. 

Four lances splintered on his crest, 

Six shivered in his side ; 
Still on the serried files he pressed, — 

He broke their ranks, and died. 

This patriot's self-devoted deed 
First tamed the Lion's mood. 

And the four forest cantons freed 
From thraldom by his blood. 

Right where his charge had made a 
lane, 

His valiant comrades burst, 
With sword, and axe, and partisan, 

And hack, and stab, and thrust. 

The daunted Lion 'gan to whine. 
And granted ground amain, 

The Mountain Bull he bent his brows, 
And gored his sides again. 

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, 

At Sempach in the flight. 
The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 

Hold many an Auotrian knigLt. 

It was the Archduke Leopold, 

So lordly would he ride, 
But he came against the Swit2er churls, 

And they slew him in his pricl<i. 

The heifer said unto che bull : 
" And shall I not co'^iplf./n ^ 

There came a foreis':. noKieri-an 
To milk mt on che p'^ir 



" One thrust of thine outrageous horr 
Has galled the knight so sore, 

That to the churchyard he is borne. 
To range our glens no more." 

An Austrian noble left the stour. 
And fast the flight 'gan take ; 

And he arrived in luckless hour 
At Sempach on the lake. 

He and his squire a fisher called 
(His name was Hans von Rot), 

" For love, or meed, or charity, 
Receive us in thy boat ! " 

Their anxious call the fisher heard, 

And, glad the meed to win. 
His shallop to the shore he steered. 

And took the flyers in. 

And while against the tide and wind 
Hans stoutly rowed his way. 

The noble to his follower signed 
He should the boatman slay. 

The fisher's back was to them turned. 
The squire his dagger drew, 

Hans saw his shadow in the lake, 
The boat he overthrew. 

He 'whelmed the boat, and as they 
strove, 

He stunned them with his oar, 
" Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, 

You '11 ne'er stab boatman more. 

" Two gilded fishes in the lake 
This morning have I caught. 

Their silver scales may much avail. 
Their carrion flesh is naught." 

It was a messenger of woe 

Has sought the Austrian land : 

" Ah ! gracious lady, evil news ! 
My lord lies on the strand. 

"At Sempach, on the battle-field. 
His bloody corpse lies there." 

" Ah, gracious God ! " the lady cried, 
" What tidings of despair ! " 

Now would you know the minstrel wight 

Who sings of strife so stern, 
Albert the Souter is he hight, 
A burgher of Lucerne. 

A merry man was he, I wot. 
The night he made the lay, 

Returning from the bloody spot, 
Where God had judged the day. 



^8o BALLADS FROM THE GERMAIN, 

THE NOBLE MORINGER. 

AN ANCIENT BALLAD. 



O, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, 

It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay ; 

He halsed and kissed his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May, 

A;.d said; " Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say. 

II. 

" 'T is I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, 
And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that 's mine; 
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay, 
That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day." 

III. 

Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer : 
" Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here ; 
And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway, 
And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away? " 

IV. 

Out spoke the noble Moringer : "Of that have thou no care. 
There 's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair ; 
The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals, and my state, 
And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate. 

V. 

"As Christian man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight, 
When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight ; 
And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now, 
But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God liath heard his vow." 

VI. 

It%i'as the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune, 
And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown : 
He flung the mantle on his back, 't was furred with miniver. 
He dipped his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair. 

VII. 

" Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine. 
And such th trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine, 
For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train, 
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again." 

VIII. ' 

The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he : 

" Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; 

That woman's faith 's a brittle trust. — Seven twelvemonths didst thou say? 

I '11 pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day." 

IX. 

The noble Baron turned him round, his heart was full of care, 
His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir. 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 381 

To whom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou trusty squire to me. 
Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea? 

X. 

To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, 
And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; 
And pledge thee for my Lady's faith, till seven long years are gone;. 
And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John." 

XI. 

Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young. 
And readily he answer made with too presumptuous tongue ; 
" My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend, 
And trust this charge to me until your pilgrimage have end. 

XII. 

" Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, 

To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride' 

And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, 

I 'II gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year." 

XIII. 

The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, 
And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek ; 
A long adieu he bids to all, — hoists topsails, and away, 
And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. 

XIV. 

It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, 
When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept ; 
And whispered in his ear a voice, " 'T is time. Sir Knight, to wake. 
Thy Lady and thy heritage another master take. 

XV. 

" Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein. 
And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train ; 
And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, 
This night within thy fathers' hall she weds Marstetten's heir." 

XVI. 

It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, 
" O would that I had ne'er been born ! what tidings have I heard I 
To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, 
But, God ! that ere a squire untrue should wed my Lady fair. 

XVII. 

"O good Saint Thomas, hear," he prayed, " my patron Saint art thou, 
A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! 
My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name. 
And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame." 

XVIII. 

It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer 
And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpowered his care ; 
He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretched beside a rill. 
High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. 



3«2 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 



The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound, 

And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around ; 

" I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, 

Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheered his pilgrun's woe 1 " 

XX. 

He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the mill he drew, 
So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew; 
The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, for charity, 
Tell a poor palmer in your laud what tidings may there be ? " 

XXI. 

The miller answered him again, " He knew of little news, 
Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose ; 
Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word, 
His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy lord. 

XX 11. 

" Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free, 

God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me ! 

And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll. 

The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole." 

XXIII. 

It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, 

And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; 

" Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take, 

To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to break." 

XXIV. 

His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, 
For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ; 
And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy Lady say, 
A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbor for a day. 

XXV. 

" I 've wandered many a weary step, my strength is wellnigh done. 
And if she turn me from her gate I '11 see no morrow's sun ; 
I prav, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole,^^ 
And for the sake of Moringer's, her once-loved husband's soul. 

XXVI. 

It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, 
" A pilgrim, worn and travel-toiled, stands at the castle door ; 
And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbor and for dole. 
And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul." 

XXVII. 
The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do up the gate," she sai<3, 
" And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ; 
And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stdy. 
These towers shall be his harborage a twelvemonth and a day." 

XXVIII. 

It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad. 
It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; 



THE NOBLE MORINGER. 383 

"And have thou thanks, kind Heaven," he said, " though from a man of sii^ 
That the true lord stands here once more his castle gate within." 

XXIX, 

Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ; 
It sat full heavy on his heart, none seemed their lord to know ; 
He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and wrong. 
Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seemed little space so long. 

XXX. 

Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour, 
The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower ; 
*' Our castle's wont," a bridesman said, " hath been both firm and long. 
No guest to harbor in our halls till he shall chant a song." 

XXXI. 

Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, 
*' My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, " lay shalm and harp aside ; 
Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, 
And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold." 

XXXII. 

*' Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 't was thus the pilgrim sung, 
*' Nor golden meed, nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue ; 
Once did I sit. thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, 
And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. 

xxxni. 

" But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-haired, 
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard : 
Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, 
And mingle with your bridal mnth the lay of frozen age." 

XXXIV. 

It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears, 

And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmed with tears; 

She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take. 

And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. 

XXXV. 

It was the noble Moringer that dropped amid the wine 

A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine : 

Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 

'T was with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one kindly deed, 
And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed ; 
Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay. 
And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer gray." 

XXXVII. 

The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied, 

The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; 

" Lady," he said, " your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray 

That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer gray." 



384 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 

XXXVIII. 

The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, 
Then might you hear her shriek aloud, " The Moringer is here ! " 
Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell, 
But whether 't was for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. 

XXXIX. 

But loud she uttered thanks to Heaven, and every saintly power, 
That had returned the Moringer before the midnight hour ; 
And loud she uttered vow on vow, tliat never was there bride, 
That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. 

XL. 

" Yes, here T claim the praise," she said, " to constant matrons due. 
Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly and true ; 
For count the term hovve er you will, so that you count aright, 
Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night." 

XLI. 

It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, 

He kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; 

" My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were the words he said, 

" Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head." 

XLII. 

The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, 
" He gathers wisdom that hatli roamed seven twelvemonths and a day ; 
My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, 
I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir. 

XLIII. 

" The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old, 
Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; 
But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate, 
For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late." 

THE ERL-KING. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. 

O, WHO rides by night through the woodland so wild ? 
It is the fond father embracing his child ; 
And close the boy nestles within his loved arm. 
To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. 

" O father, see yonder 1 see yonder ! " he says. 
" My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?" 
" O, 't is the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud." 
'No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." 

{The Erl-King speaks.) 
" O come and go with me. thou loveliest child ; 
By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled ; 
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy. 
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." 



GLENFINLAS. 



38s 



" O father, my father, and did you not hear 

The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear ? " 

" Be still, my heart's darling, — my child, be at ease ; 

It was but the wild blast as it sung through the trees." 

Ekl-King. 
" O wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy? 
My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy ; 
She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild, 
And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child." 
" O father, my father, and saw you not plain 
The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past through the rain ? " 
" O yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon ; 
It was the gray willow that danced to the moon." 

Erl-King. 

" O come and go with me, no longer delay, 

Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away." 

" O father ! O father ! now, now keep your hold, 

The Erl-King has seized me, — his grasp is so cold ! " 

Sore trembled the father ; he spurred through the wild, 
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child ; 
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread. 
But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead I 



BALLADS. 



For them the viewless forms of air obey, 
Their Ijidding- lieed, and at their beck repair ; 

They know ua.it spirit brews the storniful day, 
And heartless oft, like moody madness stare. 

To see the phantom train their secret work prepare." 

Collins. 



GLENFINLAS ; 
OR, LORD Ronald's coronach. 

" O honb a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er. 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tr^e ; 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald 
more ! " — 

O, sprung from great Macgillianore, 

The chief that never feared a foe, 
Howmatchlesswasthy broad claymore, 

How deadly thine unerring bow ! 
Well can the Saxon widows tell. 

How, ontheTeith'sresoundingshore, 
The boldest Lowland warriors fell. 

As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 



But o'er his hills, in festal day, 
How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane- 
tree. 
While youths and maids the light 
strathspey 
So nimbly danced with Highland 
glee I 

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's 
shell. 

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 
But now the loud lament we swell, 

O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more I 

From distant isles a chieftain came. 
The joys of Ronald's halls to find. 

And chase with him the dark brown 
game 
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 



386 



BALLADS. 



T was Moy ; whom in Columba's isle 
The seer's prophetic spirit found. 

As, with a minstrel's fire the while, 
He waked his harp's harmonious 
sound. 

Full many a spell to him was known, 
Which wandering spirits shrink to 
hear : 

And many a lay of potent tone, 
Was never meant for mortal ear. 

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood. 
High converse with the dead they 
hold, 

And oft espy the faded shroud. 
That shall the future corpse infold. 

O so it fell, that on a day. 

To rouse the red deer from their den. 
The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 

And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen. 

No vassals wait their sports to aid. 
To watch their safety, deck their 
board ; 
Their simple dress the Highland plaid. 
Their trusty guard, the Highland 
sword. 

Three summer days through brake and 
dell, 

Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 
And still, when dewy evening fell. 

The quarrj' to their hut they drew. 

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook 

The solitary cabin stood, 
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 

Which murmurs through that lonely 
wood. 

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, 
When three successive days had 
flown ; 
And summer mist in dewy balm 

Steeped heathy bank and mossy 
stone. 

The moon, half hid in silvery flakes, 
Afar her dubious radiance shed. 

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, 
And resting on Benledi's head. 

Now in their hut, in social guise. 
Their sylvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; 

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes. 
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 



" What lack we here to crown our bliss. 
While thus the pulse of joy beats 
high? 

What, but fair woman's yielding kiss, 
Her panting breath and melting eye ? 

" To chase the deer of yonder shades. 
This morning left their father's pile 

The fairest of our mountain maids. 
The daughters of the proud Glengyle 

" Long have I sought sweet Mary'.« 
heart, 
And dropped the tear, and heaved 
the sigh : 
But vain the lover's wily art, 
Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 

" But thou mayst teach that guardian 
fair. 

While far with Mary I am flown, 
Of other hearts to cease her care. 

And find it hard to guard her own. 

"Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt 
see 

The lovely Flora of Glengyle, 
Unmindful of her charge and me, 

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and 
smile. 
" Or, if she choose a melting tale. 

All underneath the greenwood bough, 
Will good St. Oran's rule prevail. 

Stem huntsman of the rigidbrow ?" 

" Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's 
death. 

No more on me shall rapture rise, 
Responsive to the panting breath, 

Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 

" E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe 

Where sunk my hopes of love and 
fame, 
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow, 

On me the Seer's sad spirit came. 
" The last dread curse of angry heaven. 

With ghastly sights and sounds of 
woe. 
To dash each glimpse of joy was given,— 

The gift, the future ill to know. 

"The bark thou saw'st, yon summer 
mom. 

So gayly part from Oban's bay, 
My eye beheld her dashed and torn. 

Far on the rocky Colonsay. 



GLENFINLAS. 



387 



" Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son, 
Thou saw'st with pride the gallant's 
power, 

As, marching 'gainst the Lordof Downe, 
He left the skirts of huge Benmore. 

" Thou only saw'st their tartans wave. 
As down Benvoirlich's side they 
wound, 
Heard'st but the pibroch answering 
brave 
To many a target clanking round. 

" I heard the groans, I marked the tears, 
I saw the wound liis bosom bore, 

When on the serried Saxon spears 
He poured his clan's resistless roar. 

" And thou who bid'st me think of bliss 
And bid'st my heart awake to glee, 

And court, like thee, thewanton kiss, — 
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for 
thee! 

" I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 

I hear thy Warning Spirit cry : 
The corpse-lights dance, — they 're gone, 
and now .... 

No more is given to gifted eye ! " 

'• Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 

Sad prophet of the evil hour! 
Say, should we scorn joy's transient 
beams, 
Because to-morrow's storm may low- 
er? 

" Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall 
fear ; 
His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
Though doomed to stain the Saxon 
spear. 

** E'en now, to meet me m yon dell. 
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." 

He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell. 
But called his dogs, and gay with- 
drew. 

Within an hour returned each hound : 
In rushed the rousers of the deer ; 

They howled in melancholy sound. 
Then closely couched beside the 
Seer. 

No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. 
And sad were Moy's prophetic 
dreams, 



As, bending o'er the dying flame, 
He fed the watch-fire's quivering 
gleams. 

Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
And sudden cease their moaning 
howl ; 
Close pressed to Moy, they mark their 
fears 
By shivering limbs and stifled growl. 

Untouched the harp began to ring. 
As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 

And shook responsive every string. 
As light a footstep pressed the floor. 

And by the watch-fire'sglimmering light, 
Close by the minstrel's side was seen 

An huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
All dropping wet her robes of green. 

All dropping wet her garments seem ; 

Chilled was her cheek, her bosom 
bare. 
As, bending o'er the dying gleam. 

She wrung the moisture from her hair. 

With maiden blush, she softly said, 
" O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen 

In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
A lovely maid in vest of green : 

" With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 

His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
The mountain dirk adorns his side, 

Far on the wind his tartans flow ? " 

" And who art thou ? and who are 

they?" 
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 
" And why, beneath the moon's pale 

ray. 
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ? " 

" Where wild Loch Katrine pours her 
tide, 
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an 
isle. 
Our father's towers o'erhang her side. 
The castle of the bold Glengyle. 

" To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer. 
Our woodland course this morn we 
bore, 

And haply met, while wandering here, 
The son of great Macgillianore. 

" O aid me, then, to seek the pair, 
Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 



388 



BALLADS. 



Alone, I dare not venture there, 

Where walks, they say, the shrieking 
ghost." 

"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks 
there ; 
Then, first, my own sad vow to keep. 
Here will I pour my midnight prayer, 
Which still must rise when mortals 
sleep." 

*'0 first, for pity's gentle sake, 

Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! 

For I must cross the haunted brake, 
And reach my father's towers ere 
day." 

" First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 
And thrice a Pater-noster say ; 

Then kiss with me the holy rede ; 
So shall we safely wend our way." 

" O shame to knighthood, strange and 
foul ! 

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl. 

Which best befits thy sullen vow. 

" Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, 
Thy heart was froze to love and joy, 

When gayly rung thy raptured lyre 
To wanton Morna's melting eye." 

Wild stared the minstrel's ej'es of flame, 
And high his sable locks arose, 

And quick his color went and came, 
As fear and rage alternate rose^ 

"And thou ! when by the blazing oak 
I lay, to her and love resigned, 

Sa^ rode ye on the eddying smoke. 
Or sailed ye on the midnight wind 

" Not thine a race of mortal blood. 
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 

Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood, — 
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." 

He muttered thrice St. Oran's rhyme. 
And thrice St. Fillan's powerful 
prayer ; 

Then turned him to the eastern clime, 
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; 

And loud, and high, and strange, they 
rung, 
As many a magic change they find. 



Tall waxed the Spirit's altering form. 
Till to the roof her stature grew ; 

Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
With one wild yell away she flew. 

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear ; 

The slender hut in fragments flew ; 
But not a lock of Moy's loose hair 

Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. 
Wild mingling with the howling gale. 

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 
High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. 

And die amid the northern skies. 

The voice of thunder shook the wood. 

As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 

Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 
Next dropped from high a mangled arm : 

The fingers strained an half-drawn 
blade : 
And last, the life-blood streaming warm. 

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. 

Oft o'er that head, in battling field. 
Streamed the proud crest of high Ben- 
more ; 
That arm the broad claymore could 
wield. 
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! 

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 
There never son of Albin's hills 

Shall draw the hunter's shaft again I 

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
At noon shall shun that sheltering den. 

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 

And we, — behindthe Chieftain's sliield- 

No more shall we in safety dwell ; 
None leads the people to the field, — 

And we the loud lament must swell. 
O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' 1 

The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree : 

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more 1 

THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, 

He spurred his courser on. 
Without stop or stay, down the rocky 
way 

That leads to Brotherstone. 



THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. 



389 



He went not with the bold Buccleuch, 

His banner broad to rear ; 
He went not 'gainst the English yew, 

To lift the Scottish spear. 

Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his 
helmet was laced, 
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel 
sperthe. 
Full ten pound weight and more. 

The Baron returned in three days' space, 
And his looks were sad and sour ; 

And weary was his courser's pace, 
As he reached his rocky tower. 

He came not from where Ancram Moor 
Ran red with English blood ; 

Where the Douglas true and the bold 
Buccleucii 
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, 

His acton pierced and tore. 
His axe and his dagger with blood 
imbrued, — 

But it was not English gore. 

He lighted at the Chapellage, 
He held him close and still : 

And he whistled thrice for his little 
foot-page. 
His name was English Will. 

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page. 

Come hither to my knee ; 
Though thou art young, and tender of 
age, 

I think thou art true to me. 

" Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. 
And look thou tell me true ! 

Since I from Smaylho'me tower have 
been, 
What did thy lady do ? " 

" My lady, each night, sought the lonely 
light. 
That burns on the wild Watchfold ; 
For, from height to height, the beacons 
bright 
Of the English foemen told. 

" The bittern clamored from the moss. 
The wind blew loud and shrill '; 

Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 
To the eiry Beacon Hill. 



" I watched her steps, and silent came 
Where she sat her on a stone ; — 

No watchman stood by the dreary 
flame, 
It burned all alone. 

" The second night I kept her in sight. 

Till to the fire she came. 
And, by Mary's might ! an Armed 
Knight 

Stood by the lonely flame. 

" And many a word that warlike lord 
Did speak to my lady there ; 

But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the 
blast, 
And I heard not what they were. 

" The third night there the sky was fair. 
And the mountain blast was still, 

As again I watched the secret pair, 
On the lonesome Beacon Hill. 

"And I heard her name the midnight 
hour, 
And name this holy eve ; 
And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's 
bower ; 
Ask no bold Baron's leave. 

" ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buc- 
cleuch ; 
His lady is all alone ; 
The door she '11 undo, to her knight so 
true, 
On the eve of good St. John.' 

" ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 

I dare not come to thee ; 
On the eve of St. John I must wander 
alone : 

In thy bower I may not be.' 

" * Now, out on thee, faint-hearted 
knight ! 
Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
For the eve is sweet, and when lovers 
meet. 
Is worth the whole summer's day. 

" ' And I '11 chain the blood-hound, and 
the warder shall not sound. 
And rushes shall be strewed on the 
stair ; 
So, by the black rood-stone, and by 
holy St. John, 
I conjure thee, my love, to be 
there 1 * 



390 



BALLADS. 



" ' Though the blood-hound be mute, 
and the rush beneath my foot, 
And the warder his bugle should not 
blow, 
Yet there sleepeth a priest in the cham- 
ber to the east, 
And my footstep he would know.' 

" ' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth 
to the east, 
For to Dryburgh the way he has 
ta'en ; 
And there to say mass, till three days 
do pass, 
For the soul of a knight that is 
slayne.' 

" He turned him around, and grimly 
he frowned ; 
Then he laughed right scornfully : — 
' He who says the mass-rite for the soul 
of that knight, 
May as well say mass for me : 

"'At the lone midnight hour, when 
bad spirits have power, 
In thy chamber will I be.' 
With that he was gone, and my lady 
left alone. 
And no more did I see." 

Then changed, I trow, was that bold 
Baron's brow, 
From the dark to the blood-red high ; 
" Now, tell me the mien of the knight 
thou hast seen. 
For, by Mary, he shall die ! " 
" His arms shone full bright, in the 
beacon's red light ; 
His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 
On his shield was a hound, in a silver 
leash bound. 
And his crest was a branch of the 
yew." 

" Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot- 

Loud dost thou lie to me ! 
For that knight is cold, and low laid in 
the mould, 
All under the Eildon-tree." 

" Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! 

For I heard her name his name ; 
And that lady bright, she called the 
knight 

Sir Richard of Coldinghame." 



The bold Baron's brow then changed, I 
trow. 
From high blood-red to pale : 
" The grave is deep and dark, — and 
the corpse is stiff and stark, — 
So I may not trust thy tale. 

" Where fair Tweed flows round holy 
Melrose, 
And Eildon slopes to the plain. 
Full three nights ago, by some secret 
foe. 
That gay gallant was slain. 

" The varying light deceived thy sight. 
And the wild winds drowned the 
name ; 
For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the 
white monks do sing. 
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! " 

He passed the court-gate, and he oped 
the tower-gate, 
And he mounted the narrow stair. 
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids 
that on her wait. 
He found his lady fair. 

That lady sat in mournful mood ; 

Looked over hill and vale ; 
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's 
wood. 

And all down Teviotdale. 

*' Now hail, now hail, thou lady 
bright ! " 
" Now hail, thou Baron true ! 
What news, what news, from Ancram 
fight? 
What news from the bold Buc- 
cleuch ! " 

" The Ancram moor is red with gore, 

For many a Southron fell ; 
And Buccleuch has charged us, ever- 
more, 

To watch our beacons well." 

The lady blushed red, but nothing she 
said : 
Nor added the Baron a word : 
Then she stepped down the stair to her 
chamber fair, 
And so did her moody lord. 

In sleep the lady mourned, and the 
Baron tossed and turned, 
And oft to himself he said : 



CADYOiy CASTLE. 



391 



* The worms around him creep, and 
his bloody grave is deep . . . 
It cannot give up the dead ! " 

It was near the ringing of matin-bell, 
The night was wellnigh done, 

When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, 
On the eve of good St. John. 

Tie lady looked through the chamber 
fair, 
By the light of a dying flame ; 
And she was aware of a knight stood 
there, — 
Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! 

'■ Alas ! away, away ! " she cried, 
" For the holy Virgin's sake ! " 

" Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 
But, lady, he will not awake. 

'■ By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, 
In bloody grave have I lain ; 

The mass and the death-prayer are said 
for me. 
But, lady, they are said in vain. 

" By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's 
fair strand, 
Most foully slain, I fell : 
And my restless sprite on the beacon's 
height 
For a space is doomed to dwell. 

"At our trysting-place, for a certain space 

I must wander to and fro ; 
But I had not had power to come to 
thy bower 

Hadst thou not conjured me so." 

Love mastered fear — her brows she 
crossed ; 

*' How, Richard, hast thou sped ? 
And art thou saved, or art thou lost ? " 

The vision shook his head ! 

" Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life ; 

So bid thy lord believe : 
That lawless love is guilt above, 

This awful sign receive." 

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam •■ 

His right upon her hand ; 
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 

For it scorched like a fiery brand. 

The sable score, of fingers four. 
Remains on that board impressed ; 

And forevermore that lady wore 
A covering on her wrist. 



There is a nun in Dryburgh bower 

Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
There is a monk in Melrose tower, 

He speaketh word to none. 

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, 
That monk, who speaks to none, — 

That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay. 
That monk the bold Baron. 

CADYOW CASTLE. 

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOR- 
ABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 

When princely Hamilton's abode 
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers. 

The song went round, the goblet flowed, 
And revel sped the laughing hours. 

Then thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
So sweetly rung each vaulted wall. 

And echoed light the dancer's bound. 
As mirth and music cheered the hall. 

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid, 
And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 

Thrill to the music of the shade, 
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. 
You bid me tell a minstrel tale. 

And tune my harp, of Border frame, 
On the wild banks of Evandale. 

For thou, from scenesof courtly pride. 
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst 
turn, 
To draw oblivion's pall aside, 
i And mark the long-forgotten urn. 

Then, noble maid ! at thy command. 
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 

Lo! as on Evan's banks we stand. 
The past returns, — the present flies. 

Where, with the rock's wood-covered 
side. 

Were blended late the ruins green, 
Rise turrets in fantastic pride, 

And feudal banners flaunt between : 

Where the rude torrent'sbrawlingcourse 
Was shagged with thorn and tangling 
sloe. 

The ashler buttress braves its force. 
And ramparts frown in battled row. 

'T is night, — the shade of keep and 
spire 
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 



392 



BALLADS. 



And on the wave the warder's fire 
Is checkering the moonlight beam. 

Fades slow their light ; the east is gray ; 

The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds 
bay. 

And merry hunters quit the bower. 

'I'he drawbridge falls — theyhurryout — 
Clatters each plank and swinging 
chain, 

As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 

First of his troop, the chief rode on ; 

His shouting merrymen throng be- 
hind ; 
The steed of princely Hamilton 

Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 

From the thick copse the roebucks 
bound, 
The startled red-deer scuds the plain. 
For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound 
Has roused their mountain haunts 
again. 

Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 
Whose limbs a thousand years have 
worn, 

What sullen roar comes down the gale. 
And drowns thehunter'spealinghorn.'' 

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, 

That roam in woody Caledon, 
Crashing the forest in his race. 
The Mountain Bull comes thunder- 
ing on. 
Fierce, on the hunter's quivered band. 

He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, 
Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the 
sand. 
And tosses high his mane of snow. 
Aimed well, the Chieftain's lance has 
flown ; 
Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
His roar is sunk in hollow groan, — 
Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the 
pryse I 
'T is noon, — against the knotted oak 

The hunters rest the idle spear ; 
Curls through the trees the slender 
smoke, 
V/here yeomen dight the woodland 
cheer. 



Proudly the Chieftain inarked his clan, 
On greenwood lap ad «.a. e^t^.. chrowr, 

Yet missed his ej'e the boldest man 
That bore the name of Hamilton. 

" Why fills not Hothwellhaugh his place, 
Still wont our weal and woe to share ? 

Why comes he not our sport to grace? 
Why shares he not our huntei's 
fare ?" 

Stem Claud replied, with darkenirg 
face 

(Gray Paisley's haughty lord was he): 
" At merry feast, or buxom chase. 

No more the warrior wilt thou see. 

"Few suns have set since Woodhouselee 
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets 
foam. 
When to his hearths, in social glee, 
The war-worn soldier turned him 
home. 

" There, wan from her maternal throes, 
His Margaret, beautiful and mild, 

Sat in her bovver, a pallid rose, 

And peaceful nursed her new-bom 
child. 

" O change accursed ! past are those 

days ; 
False Murray's ruthlessspoilerscame. 
And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, 
Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 

" What sheeted phantom wanders wild, 
Where mountain Eske through wood- 
land flows. 

Her arms infold a shadowy child, — 
O, is it she, the pallid rose? 

" The wildered traveller sees her glide, 

And hears her feeble voice with awe, — 

'Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's 

pride ! 

And woe for injured Bothwell- 

haugh ! ' " 

He ceased, — and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from the kindred band, 

And half arose the kindling Chief, 
And half unsheathed his Arran brand, 

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and 
rock. 

Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 
Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 

Drives to the leap his jaded steed; 



CADYOIV CASTLE. 



393 



Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs 
glare, 

As one some visioned sight that saw, 
Whose hands are bloody, loose his 
hair? — 

'T is he ! 't is he ! 't is Bothwellhaugh. 
From gory sella, and reeling steed. 
Sprung the fierce horseman with a 

bound. 
And, reeking from the recent deed. 

He dashed his carbine on the ground. 
Sternly he spoke : " 'T is sweet to hear 

In good greenwood the bugle blown. 
But sweeter to Revenge's ear, 

To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 
" Your slaughtered quarry proudly trode, 

At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, 
But prouder base-born Murray rode. 

Through old Linlithgow's crowded 
town. 

" From the wild Border's humbled side, 

In haughty triumph marched he, 
While Knox relaxed his bigot pride. 

And smiled, the traitorous pomp to 
see. 
" But can stern Power, with all his 
vaunt, 

Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. 
The settled heart of Vengeance daunt. 

Or change the purpose of Despair ? 

" With hackbut bent, my secret stand, 
Dar^ as the purposed deed I chose. 
And marked where, mingling in his 
band, 
Trooped Scottish pikes and English 
bows. 

" Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, 
Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 

And clashed their broadswords in the 
rear 
The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. 

" Glencairn and stout Parkhead were 
nigh. 

Obsequious at their Regent's rein. 
And haggard Lindesay's iron eye. 

That saw fair Mary weep in vain. 
*' 'Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove. 

Proud Murray's plumage floated high; 
Scarce could his trampling charger 
move. 

So close the minions crowded nigh. 



" From the raised visor's shade, his eye 
Dark-rolling, glanced the ranksalong, 

And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
Seemed marshalling the iron throng. 

" But yet his saddened brow confessed 
A passing sliade of doubt and awe ; 

Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 
' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' 

" The death-shot parts, — the charger 
springs, — 
Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! 
And Murray's plumy helmet rings, — 
Rings on the ground, to rise no 
more. 

" What joy the raptured youth can %el, 
To hear her love the loved one tell ; 

Or he who broaches on his steel 
The wolf by whom his infant fell ! 

" But dearer to my injured eye 
To see in dust proud Murray roll ; 

And mine was ten times trebled joy, 
To hear him groan his felon soul. 

" My Margaret's spectre glided near ; 

With pride her bleeding victim saw; 
And shrieked in his death-deafened ear, 

' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh ! 

" Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 

Spread to the wind thy bannered tree ! 
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale 
bow ! 

Murray is fallen, and Scotland free ! " 

Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 
Loud bugles join their wild ac- 
claim : 
" Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed ! 
Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of 
flame ! " 

But see ! the minstrel vision fails, — 
The glimmering spears are seen no 
more ; 

The shouts of war die on the gales, 
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 

For the loud bugle, pealing high, 
Tlie blackbird whistles down the vale, 

And sunk in ivied ruins lie 

The bannered towers of Evandale. 

For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed. 
And Vengeance shouting o'er the 
slain. 



394 



BALLADS. 



Lo ! high-bom Beauty rules the steed, 
Or graceful guides the silken rein. 

And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
The maids who list the minstrel'stale ; 

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
On the fair banks of Evandale ! 



THE GRAY BROTHER. 

A FRAGMENT. 

The Pope he was saying the high, high 
mass, 
All on Saint Peter's day. 
With the power to him given, by the 
saints in heaven, 
To wash men's sins away. 

The Pope he was saying the blessed 
mass, 
And the people kneeled around. 
And from each man's soul his sins did 
pass, 
As he kissed the holy ground. 

And all, among the crowded throng, 
Was still, both limb and tongue, 

While, through vaulted roof, and aisles 
aloof, 
The holy accents rung. 

At the holiest word he quivered for fear, 
And faltered in the sound, — 

And, when he would the chalice rear. 
He dropped it to the ground. 

" The breath of one of evil deed 

Pollutes our sacred day ; 
He has no portion in our creed. 

No part in what I say. 

" A being, whom no blessed word 
To ghostly peace can bring : 

A wretch, at whose approach abhorred 
Recoils each holy thing. 

" Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! 

My adjuration fear ! 
I charge thee not to stop my voice. 

Nor longer tarry here ! " 

Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled, 

In gown of sackcloth gray ; 
Far journeying from his native field, 

He first saw Rome that day. 

For forty days and nights so drear, 
I ween he had not spoke, 



And, save with bread and water clear. 
His fast he ne'er had broke. 

Amid the penitential flock. 

Seemed none more bent to pray ; 

But, when the Holy Father spoke. 
He rose and went his way. 

Again unto his native land 

His weary course he drew. 
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, 

And Pentland's mountains blue. 

His unblest feet his native seat, 
'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 

Through woods more fair no stream 
more sweet 
Rolls to the eastern main. 

And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 
And vassals bent the knee ; 

For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, 
Was none more famed than he. 

And boldly for his country, still. 

In battle he had stood. 
Ay, even when on the banks of Till 

Her noblest poured their blood. 

Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet ! 

By Eske's fair streams that run, 
O'er airy steep, through copsewood 
deep. 

Impervious to the sun. 

There the rapt poet's step may rove. 
And yield the muse the day ; 

There Beauty, led by timid Lov6, 
May shun the telltale ray ; 

From that fair dome, where suit is paid, 

By blast of bugle free, 
To Aivchendinny's hazel glade. 

And haunted Woodhouselee. 

Whoknows not Melville's beechygrove, 

And Roslin's rocky glen, 
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love. 

And classic Hawthornden ? 
Yet never a path, from day to day. 

The pilgrim's footsteps range, 
Save but the solitary way 

To Burndale's rumed grange. 

A woful place was that, I ween, 

As sorrow could desire ; 
For nodding to the fall was each crum- 
bling wall. 

And the roof was scathed with fire 



BOTH IV ELL CASTLE. 



395 



It fel) Mpon a summer's eve. 
While, on Carnethy's head. 

The last faint gleams of the sun's low 
beams 
Had streaked the gray with red ; 

And the convent bell did vespers tell, 

Newbattle's oaks among, 
And mingled with the solemn knell 

Our Lady's evening song: 

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell. 
Came slowly down the wind, 

And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 
As his wonted path he did find. 

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was. 

Nor ever raised his eye. 
Until he came to that dreary place, 

WMiich did all in ruins lie. 

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with 
fire, 

With many a bitter groan ; 
And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 

Resting him on a stone. 

" Now, Christ thee save ! " said the 
Gray Brother ; 

" Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze. 

Nor answer again made he. 

" O come ye from east, or come ye from 
west, 
Or bring reliques from over the sea : 
Or come ye from the shrine of St. James 
the Divine, 
Or St. John of Beverley?" 

'* I come not from the shrine of St. 
James the Divine, 
Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
I bring but a curse from our father, the 
Pope, 
Which forever will cling to me." 

*' Now, woful pilgrim, say not so ! 

But kneel thee down to me, 
And shrive thee so clean of thy dead- 
ly sin. 

That absolved thou mayst be." 

" And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, 
That I should shrive to thee, 

When He, to whom are given the keys 
of earth and heaven. 
Has no power to pardon me ? " 



" O I am sent from a distant clime, 
Five thousand miles away. 

And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, 
Done here 'twixt night and day." 

The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand, 
And thus began his saye — 

When on his neck an ice-cold hand 
Did that Gray Brother laye. 



BOTHWELL CASTLE. 

[1799.] • 

When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bow- 
ers 
Are mellowing in the noon ; 
When sighs round Pembroke's ruined 
towers 
The sultry breath of June; 

When Clyde, despite his sheltering 
wood. 

Must leave his channel dry ; 
And vainly o'er the limpid flood 

The angler guides his fly ; 

If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes 
A wanderer thou hast been. 

Or hid thee from the summer's blaze 
In Blantyre's bowers of green. 

Full where the copsewood opens wild 
Thy pilgrim step hath stayed. 

Where Bothwell's towers, in ruin piled, 
O'erlook the verdant glade ; 

And many a tale of love and fear 
Hath mingled with the scene, — 

Of Bothwell's banks that bloomed so 
dear. 
And Bothwell's bonny Jean. 

O, if with rugged minstrSl lays 

Unsated be thy ear, 
And thou of deeds of other days 

Another tale wilt hear, — 

Then all beneath the spreading beech, 

Flung careless on the lea. 
The Gothic muse the tale shall teach 

Of Bothwell's sisters three. 

Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont 
head. 

He blew his bugle round. 
Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood 

Has started at the sound. 



396 



BALLADS. 



St. George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung, 

Was waving far and wide, 
And from the lofty turret flung 

Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; 

And rising at the bugle blast 
That marked the Scottish foe, 

Old England's yeomen mustered fast, 
And bent the Norman bow. 

Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose, 

Proud Pembroke's Earl was he, — 
VVhile— 

THE SHEPHERD'S TALE. 

[I799-] 
***** 
And ne'er but once, my son, he says, 

Was yon sad cavern trod. 
In persecution's iron days. 

When the land was left by God. 

From Bewlie bog, with slaughter red, 

A wanderer hither drew. 
And oft he stopped and turned his 
head. 

As by fits the night wind blew ; 

For trampling round by Cheviot edge 
Were heard the troopers keen, 

And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge 
The death-shot flashed between. 

The moonbeams through the misty 
shower 
On yon dark cavern fell ; 
Through the cloudy night the snow 
gleamed white. 
Which sunbeam ne'er could quell. 

" Yon cavern dark is rough and rude, 

And cold its jaws of snow ; 
But more rough and rude are the men 
of blood, 

That hunt my life below ! 

" Yon spell-bound den, as the aged tell, 
Was hewn by demon's hands ; 

But I had lourd melle with the fiends 
of hell. 
Than with Clavers and his band." 

He heard the deep-mouthed blood- 
hound bark. 

He heard the horses neigh, 
He plunged him in the cavern dark, 

And downward sped his way. 



Now faintly down the winding path 
Came the cry of the faulting hound, 

And the muttered oath ofbalked wrath 
Was lost in hollow sound. 

He threw him on the flinted floor, 
And held his breath for fear ; 

He rose and bitter cursed his foes, 
As the sounds died on his ear. 

" O bare thine arm, thou battling Lord, 
For Scotland's wandering band ; 

Dash from the oppressor's grasp the 
sword. 
And sweep him from the land 1 

" Forget not thou thy people's groans 
From dark Dunnotter's tower. 

Mixed with the seafowl's shrilly moans, 
And ocean's bursting roar 1 

" O, in fell Clavers' hour of pride. 

Even in his mightiest day, 
As bold he strides through conquest's 
tide, 

O stretch him on the clay ! 

" His widow and his little ones, 

O may their tower of trust 
Remove its strong foundation stones, 

And crush them in the dust ! " 

" Sweet prayers to me," a voice replied, 
"Thrice w-elcome, guest of mine ! " 

And, glimmering on the cavern side, 
A light was seen to shine. 

An aged man, in amice brown. 
Stood by the wanderer's side. 

By powerful charm, a dead man's arm 
The torch's light supplied. 

From each stiff finger, stretched upright. 

Arose a ghastly flame, 
That waved not in the blast of night 

Which through the cavern came. 

O, deadly blue was that taper's hue, 
That flamed the cavern o'er, 

But more deadly blue was the ghastly 
hue 
Of his eyes who the taper bore. 

He laid on his head a hand like lead, 
As heavy, pale, and cold, — 

" Vengeance be thine, thou gciest of 
mine. 
If thy heart be firm and boid. 



THE SHEPHERD'S TALE. 



397 



"But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear 

Thy recreant sinews know, 
The mountain erne thy heart shall 
tear. 

Thy nerves the hooded crow." 

The wanderer raised him undismayed : 
" My soul, by dangers steeled. 

Is stubborn as my border blade, 
Which never knew to yield. 

*' And if thy power can speed the 
hour 
Of vengeance on my foes, 
Theirs be the fate, from bridge and 
gate, 
To feed the hooded crows." 

The Brownie looked him in the face, 
And his color fled with speed. — 

" I fear me," quoth he, " uneath it will 
be 
To match thy word and deed. 

" In ancient days when English bands 

Sore ravaged Scotland fair, 
The sword and shield of Scottish land 

Was valiant Halbert Kerr. 

" A warlock loved the warrior well, 
Sir Michael Scott by name, 

And he sought for his sake a spell to 
make. 
Should the Southern foemen tame. 

" * Look thou,' he said, from Cessford 
head. 
As the July sun sinks low. 
And when glimmering white on Che- 
viot's height 
Thou shall spy a wreath of snow, 
The spell is complete which shall bring 
to thy feet 
The haughty Saxon foe.' 

" For many a year wrought the wizard 
here, 
In Cheviot's bosom low, 
Till the spell was complete, and in 
July's heat 
Appeared December's snow ; 
But Cessford's Halbert never came 
The wondrous cause to know. 

" For years before in Bowden aisle 
The warrior's bones had lain. 

And after short while, by female guile, 
Sir Michael Scott was slain. 



" But me and my brethren in this cell 
His mighty charms retain, — 

And he that can quell the powerful 
spell 
Shall o'er broad Scotland reign." 

He led him through an iron door. 

And up a winding stair, 
And in wild amaze did the wanderer 
gaze 

On the sight which opened there. 

Through the gloomy night flashed ruddy 
light, — 
A thousand torches glow ; 
The cave rose high, like the vaulted 
sky, 
O'er stalls in double row. 
In every stall of that endless hall 

Stood a steed in barbing bright; 
At the foot of each steed, all armed save 
the head. 
Lay stretched a stalwart knight. 

In each mailed hand was a naked 
brand ; 

As they lay on the black bull's hide. 
Each visage stern did upwards turn, 

With eyeballs fixed and wide. 

A launcegay strong, full twelve ells 
long. 

By every warrior hung ; 
At each pommel there, for battle yare, 

A Jedwood axe was slung. 

The casque hung near each cavalier ; 

The plumes waved mournfully 
At every tread which the wanderer made 

Through the hall ofgramarye. 

The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam 
That glared the warriors on. 

Reflected light from armor bright. 
In noontide splendor shone. 

And onward seen in lustre sheen. 
Still lengthening on the sight. 

Through the boundless hall stood steeds 
in stall, 
And by each lay a sable knight. 

Still as the dead lay each horseman 
dread, 
And moved nor limb nor tongue ; 
Each Reed stood stiff as an earthfast 
cliff. 
Nor hoof nor bridle rung. 



398 



BALLADS. 



No sounds through all the spacious 
hall 
The deadly still divide, 
Save where echoes aloof from the vault- 
ed roof 
To the wanderer's step replied. 

At length before his wondering eyes, 

On an iron column borne, 
Of antique shape, and giant size, 

Appeared a sword and horn. 

*• Now choose thee here," quoth his 
leader, 

*' Thy venturous fortune try ; 
Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale, 

In yon brand and bugle lie." 

To the fatal brand he mounted his hand, 
But his soul did quiver and quail ; 

The life-blood did start to his shudder- 
ing heart. 
And left him wan and pale. 

The brand he forsook, and the horn he 
took 

To 'say a gentle sound ; 
But so wild a blast from the bugle brast, 

That the Cheviot rocked around. 

From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas, 

The awful bugle rung, 
On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal. 

To arms the warders sprung. 

With clank and clang the cavern rang. 
The steeds did stamp and neisjh ; 

And loud was the yell as each warrior 
fell 
Sterte up with hoop and cry. 

"Woe, woe," they cried, " thou caitiff 
coward. 

That ever thou wert bom ! 
Why drew ye not the knightly sword 

Before ye blew the horn ? " 

The morning on the mountain shone, 

And on the bloody ground. 
Hurled from the cave with shivered 
bone. 

The mangled wretch was found. 

And still beneath the cavern dread. 

Among the glidders gray, 
A shapeless stone with lichens ^read 

Marks where the wanderer lay. 



CHEVIOT. 

[I799-] 

***** 
Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, 
And pensive mark the lingering .stjow 

In all his scaurs abide. 
And slow dissolving from the hill 
In many a sightless, soundless rill. 

Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. 

Fair shines the stream by bank and lea. 
As wimpling to the eastern sea 

She seeks Till's sullen bed, 
Indenting deep the fatal plain. 
Where Scotland's noblest, brave in 
vain. 

Around their monarch bled. 

And westward hills on hills you see. 
Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea 

Heaves high her waves of foam, 
Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's 

wold 
To the proud foot of Cheviot rolled. 

Earth's mountain biilows come. 



THE REIVER'S WEDDING, 

[1802.] 

O WILL ye hear a mirthful bourd? 

Or will ye hear of courtesie ? 
Or will ye hear how a gallant lord 

Was wedded to a gay ladye ? 

"Ca' out the kye," quo' the village 
herd. 

As he stood on the knowe, 
" Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten. 

And bauld Lord William's cow." 

" Ah ! by my sooth," quoth William 
tlien, 
" And stands it that way now. 
When knave and churl have nine and 
ten. 
That the lord has but his cow? 

" I swear by the light of the Michaex- 
mas moon, 
And the might of Mary high, 
.And by the edge of my braidsword 
brown. 
They shall soon say Harden's kye." 



THE REIVER'S WEDDING. 



309 



Ha took a bugle frae his side, 

With names carved o'er and o'er, — 

Full many a chief of meikle pride 
That Border bugle bore, — 

He blew a note baith sharp and hie, 
Till rock and water rang around. — 

Threescore of moss-troopers and three 
Have mounted at that bugle sound. 

The Michaelmas moon had entered 
then. 
And ere she wan the full, 
Ye might see by her light in Harden 
glen 
A bow o' kye and a bassened bull. 

And loud and loud in Harden tower 
The quaigh gaed round wl' meikle 
glee ; 
For the English beef was brought in 
bower 
And the English ale flowed merrilie. 

And mony a guest from Teviotside 
And Yarrow's braes was there ; 

Was never a lord in Scotland wide 
That made more dainty fare. 

They ate, they laughed, they sang and 
quaffed, 
Till naught on board was seen, 
When knight and squire were boune to 
dine. 
But a spur of silver sheen. 

Lord William has ta'en his berry brown 
steed, — 

A sore shent man was he ; 
"Wait ye, my guests, a little speed, — 

Weel feasted ye shall be." 
He rode him down by Falsehope 
burn. 

His cousin dear to see. 
With him to take a riding turn, — 

Wat-draw-the-sword was he. 
And when he came to Falsehope 
glen. 

Beneath the trysting-tree, 
On the smooth green was carved plain, 

"To Lochwood bound are we." 
" O if they be gane to dark Lochwood 

To drive the Warden's gear, 
Betwixt our names, I ween, there's 
feud ; 

I '11 go and have my share ; 



" For little reck I for Johnstone's 
feud. 
The Warden though he be," 
So Lord William is away to dark Loch- 
wood, 
With riders barely three. 

The Warden's daughters in Lochwood 
sate, 

Were all both fair and gay, 
All save the Lady Margaret, 

And she was wan and wae. 

The sister, Jean, had a full fair skin, 
And Grace was bauld and braw ; 

But the leal-fast heart her breast with- 
in 
It weel was worth them a'. 

Her father 's pranked her sisters twa 
With meikle joy and pride : 

But Margaret maun seek Dundren- 
nan's wa' — 
She ne'er can be a bride. 

On spear and casque by gallants gent 
Her sisters' scarfs were borne, 

But never at tilt or tournament 
Were Margaret's colors worn. 

Her sisters rode to Thirlstane bower, 

But she was left at hame 
To wander round the gloomy tower, 

And sigh young Harden's name 

" Of all the knights, the knight most 
fair. 
From Yarrow to the Tyne," 
Soft siglied the maid, "is Harden's 
heir. 
But ne'er can he be mine ; 

" Of all the maids, the foulest maid, 

From Teviot to the Dee, 
Ah ! " sighing sad, that lady said, 

" Can ne'er young Harden's be." 

She looked up the briery glen, 

And up the mossv brae. 
And she saw a score of her father' 
men 

Yclad in the Johnstone gray. 

O fast and fast they downwards spec} 
The moss and briers among, 

And in the midst the troopers led 
A shackled knight along. 

* * « « • 



400 



BALLADS. 



CHRISTIE'S WILL. 

Traquair has ridden up Chapelhope, 
And sae has he down by the Gray 
Mare's Tail ; 

He never stinted the hght gallop, 
Until he speered for Christie's Will. 

Now Christie's Will peeped frae the 
tower, 
And out at the shot-hole keeked he ; 
"And ever unlucky," quo' he, "is the 
hour. 
That the Warden comes to speer for 
me ! " 

" Good Christie's Will, now, have nae 
fear ! 
Nae harm, good Will, shall hap to 
thee : 
I saved thy life at the Jeddart air. 
At the Jeddart air frae the justice tree. 

" Bethink how ye sware, by the salt 
and the bread. 
By the lightning, the wind, and the 
rain. 
That if ever of Christie's Will I had 
need, 
He would pay me my service again." 

*' Gramercy, my lord," quo' Christie's 
Will, — 
" Gramercy, my lord, for your grace 
to me ! 
When I turn my cheek, and claw my 
neck, 
I think of Traquair and the Jeddart 
tree." 

And he has opened the fair tower yate. 
To Traquair and a' his companie ; 

The spule o' the deer on the board he 
has set, 
The fattest that ran on the Hutton Lee. 

" Now, wherefore sit ye sad, my lord? 

And wherefore sit ye mournfullie? 
And why eat ye not of the venison I 
shot, 
At the dead of night on Hutton 
Lee?" 

" O weel may I stint offcast and sport. 
And in my mind be vexed sair ! 

A vote of the cankered Session Court, 
Of land and living will make me bare. 



" Butif auld Durieto heaven wereflown, 

Or if auld Durie to hell were gane. 
Or .... if he could be but ten days 
stown .... 
My bonny braid lands would still be 
my ain." 

" O, mony a time, my lord," he said, 
" I 've stown the horse frae the 
sleeping loon ; 
But for you I '11 steal a beast as braid, 
For I '11 steal Lord Durie frae Edin- 
burgh toun. 

" O, mony a time, my lord," he said, 
" I 've stown a kiss frae a sleeping 
wench ; 
But for you I '11 do as kittle a deed, 
For I '11 steal an auld lurdane aff the 
bench." 

And Christie's Will is to Edinburgh 
gane ; 
At the Borough Miiir then entered he; 
And as he passed the gallow-stane. 
He crossed his brow, and he bent 
his knee. 

He lighted at Lord Durie's door, 
And there he knocked most manful- 
lie ; 
And up and spake Lord Durie sae stour, 
" What tidings, thou stalward groom, 
to me? " 

" The fairest lady in Teviotdale 

Has sent, maist reverent sir, for thee ; 
She pleas at the Session for her land, 
a' haill. 
And fain she wad plead her cause to 
thee." 

" But how can I to that lady ride, 
With saving of my dignitie ? " 

"O, a curch and mantle ye may wear, 
And in my cloak ye sail muffled be." 

Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face. 
He mounted the judge on a palfrey 
fyne ; 
He rode away, a right round pace. 
And Christie's Will held the bridle 
reyn. 

The Lothian Edge they were not o'er, 
When they heard bugles bauldly ring, 

And, hunting over Middleton Mocr, 
They met, I ween, our noble King. 



WAR-SONG. 



40i 



iVhen Willie looked upon our King, 
I wot a frighted man was he ! 

Cut ever auld Durie was startled mair, 
For tyning of his dignitie. 

The King he crossed himself, I wis, 
When as the pair came riding bye : 

"An uglier crone, and a sturdier loon, 
I think, were never seen with eye ! " 

Willie has hied lo the tower of Graeme, 
He took auld Diirie on his back, 

He shot him down to the dungeon deep. 
Which garred his auld banes gie 
mony a crack. 

For nineteen days, and nineteen nights, 
Of sun, or moon, or midnight stern, 

Auld Durie never saw a blink. 

The lodging was sae dark and dern. 

He thought the warlocks o'er the rosy 
cross 

Had fanged him in their nets sae fast ; 
Or that the gypsies' glamoured gang 

Had laired his learning at the last. 

"Hey ! Batty, lad ! faryaud! far yaud !" 

These were the morning sounds 

heard he ; 

And ever " Alack ! " auld Durie cried, 

" The deil is hounding his tykes on 

me ! " 

And whiles a voice on Baudrons cried, 
With sound uncouth, and sharp, and 
hie ; 
" I have tar-barrelled mony a witch. 
But now, I think, they '11 clear scores 
wi' me ! " 

The King has caused a bill be wrote, 
And he has set it on the Tron; 

" He that will bring Lord Durie back. 
Shall have five hundred merks and 
one " 

Traquair has written a privie letter. 
And he has sealed it wi' his seal : 
"Ye may let the auld brock out o' the 
poke ; 
The land's my ain, and a' 's gane 
weel." 

O Will has mounted his bonny black. 
And to thetowerof Gramme did trudge, 

And once again, on his sturdy back, 
Has he hente up the weary judge. 
26 



He brought him to the council stairs^, 
And there full loudly shouted he : 
" Gie me my guerdon, my sovereign 
liege. 
And take ye back your auld Du- 
rie 1 " 

WAR-SONG 

OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT 
DRAGOONS. 

To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies, 

The bugles sound the call ; 
The Gallic navy stems the seas. 
The voice of battle 's on the breeze, 

Arouse ye, one and all ! 

From high Dunedin's towers we come, 

A band of brothers true ; 
Our casques the leopard's spoils sur- 
round, 
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned ; 

We boast the red and blue. 

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown 
Dull Holland's tardy train ; 

Their ravished toys though Romans 
mourn ; 

Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, 
And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 

O, had they marked the avenging call 

Their brethren's murder gave, 
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, 
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown. 
Sought freedom in the grave ! 

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 

In Freedom's temple born. 
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
To hail a master in our isle. 

Or brook a victor's scorn ? 

No ! though destruction o'er the land 

Come pouring as a flood, 
The sun, that sees our falling day, 
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 

And set that night in blood. 

For gold let Gallia's legions fight. 

Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we 

draw. 
To guard our king, to fence our law, 

Nor shall their edge be vain. 

If ever breath of British gale 
Shall fan the tricolor. 



402 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Or footstep of invader rude, 
With rapine foul, and red with blood. 
Pollute our happy shore, — 

Then farewell home ! and farewell 
friends ! 
Adieu each tender tie ! 
Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 



Where charging squadrons furious ride, 
To conquer or to die. 

To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ! 

High sounds our bugle call ; 
Combined by honor's sacred tie, 
Our word is Laws and Liberty ! 

March forward, one and all ! 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



FROM WAVERLEY. 
I. 

To the tune of"I have been a Fiddler" Grc. 

And did ye not hear of a mirth befell 
The morrow after a wedding day. 

And carrying a bride at home to dwell ? 
And away to Tewin, away, away. 

The quintain was set, and the garlands 
were made, 
'T is pity old customs should ever de- 
cay ; 
And woe be to him that was horsed on 
a jade, 
For he carried no credit away, away. 

We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; 

We set them a-cockhorse, and made 
them play 
The winning of Bullen, and Upsey- frees 

And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

There was ne'er a lad in all the parish 
That would go to the plough that 
day ; 
But on his fore-horse his wench he 
carries, 
And away to Tewin, away, away ! 

The butler was quick, and the ale he 
did tap. 
The maidens did make the chamber 
full gay ; 
The servants did give me a fuddling 
cup. 
And I did carry 't away, away. 

The smith of the town his liquor so took, 
That he was persuaded that the 
ground looked blue ; 



And I dare boldly be sworn on a book 
Such smiths as he there 's but a few 

A posset was made, and the women did 

sip, 
And simpering said, they could eat 

no more ; 
Full many a maiden was laid on the 

I '11 say no more, but give o er, give 
o'er. 

II. 
Late, when the autumn evening fell 
On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell. 
The lake returned, in chastened gleam, 
The purple cloud, the golden beam : 
Reflected in the crystal pool. 
Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; 
The weather-tinted rock and tower, 
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, 
So true, so soft, the mirror gave, 
As if there lay beneath the wave. 
Secure from trouble, toil, and care, 
A world than earthly world more fair. 

But distant winds began to wake. 
And roused the Genius of the Lake 1 
He heard the groaning of the oak. 
And donned at once his sable cloak, 
As warrior, at the battle cry, 
Invests him with his panoply : 
Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed, 
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest 
O'er furrowed brow and blackened 

cheek. 
And bade his surge in thunder speak. 
In wild and broken eddies whirled. 
Flitted that fond ideal world ; 
And, to the shore in tumult tost, 
The realms of fairy bliss were lost 



FROM WAVERLEY. 



403 



Yet, with a stem delight and strange, 
I saw the spirit-stirring change 
As warred the wind with wave and 

wood. 
Upon the ruined tower I stood. 
And felt my heart more strongly bound, 
Responsive to the lofty sound. 
While, joying in the mighty roar, 
1 mourned that tranquil scene no more. 

So, on the idle dreams of youth 

Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth, 

Bids each fair vision pass away. 

Like landscape on the lake that lay, 

As fair, as flitting, and as frail. 

As that which fled the autumn gale. — 

Forever dead to fancy's eye 

Be each gay form that glided by, 

While dreams of love and lady's charms 

Give place to honor and to arms 1 



The Knight 's to the mountain 

His bugle to wind ; 
The lady 's to greenwood 

Her garland to bind. 
The bower of Burd Ellen 

Has moss on the floor. 
That the step of Lord William 

Be silent and sure. 



MoN coeur volage, dit-elle, 
N'est pas pour vous, gar^on, 

Est pour un homme de guerre, 
Qui a barbe au menton. 

Lon, Lon, Laridon. 

Qui porte chapeau a plume, 

Soulier a rouge talon, 
Qui joue de la flute, 

Aussi de violon. 

Lon, Lon, I^aridon. 



It 's up Glembarchan's braes I gaed. 
And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, 
And mony a weary cast I made 
To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail. 

If up a bonny black-cock should spring. 
To whistle him down wi' a slug in his 

wing. 
And strap him on to my lunzie string, 
Right seldom would I fail. 



Hie away, hie away. 
Over bank and over brae. 
Where the copsewood is the greenest, 
Where the fountains glisten sheenest, 
Where the lady-fern grows strongest. 
Where the morning dew lies longest. 
Where the black-cock sweetest sips it. 
Where the fairy latest trips it : 
Hie to haunts right seldom seen. 
Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green. 
Over bank and over brae. 
Hie away, hie away. 



On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune 

ye to rest. 
Ever beware that your couch be blessed ; 
Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, 
Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. 

For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night- 

Hag will ride. 
And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her 

side, 
Whether the wind sing lowly or loud. 
Sailing through moonshine or swathed 

in the cloud. 

The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair, 
The dew of the night has damped her 

hair; 
Her cheek was pale, — but resolved and 

high 
Was the word of her lip and the glance 

of her eye. 

She muttered the spell of Swithin bold, 

When his naked foot traced the mid- 
night wold, 

When he stopped the Hag as she rode 
the night. 

And bade her descend, and her promise 
plight. 

He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, 

When the Night- Hag wings the troub- 
led air, 

Questions three, when he speaks the 
spell. 

He may ask, and she must tell. 

The Baron has been with King Robert 

his liege. 
These three long years in battle and 

siege ; 



404 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



News are there none of his weal or his 

woe, 
And fain the Lady his fate would know. 

She shudders and stops as the charm she 

speaks ; 
Is it the moody owl that shrieks? 
Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and 

scream 
The voice of the Demon who haunts the 

stream ? 

The moan of the \vind sunk silent and 

low, 
And the roaring torrent ceased to flow ; 
The calm was more dreadful than raging 

storm, 
When the cold gray mist brought the 

ghastly form 1 



Young men will love thee more fair and 
more fast ! 
Heard ye so Tnerry the little bird 
sing^ ? 
Old men's love the longest will last, 
A ndthe throstle-cock^ s head is under 
his wing. 

The young man's wrath is like light straw 
on fire ; 
Heard ye so merry the little bird 
sing ? 
But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire, 
A ndthe throstle-cock's head is uftder 
his iving. 
The young man will brawl at the evening 
board ; 
Heard ye so Tnerry the little bird 
sing ? 
But the old man will draw at the dawn- 
ing tlie sword, 
A ndthe throstle-cock'' s head is under 
his wing. 

VIII. 
FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG. 

There is mist on the mountain, and 

night on the vale. 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons 

of the Gael. 
A stranger commanded, — it sunk on 

the land, 
It has frozen each heart, and benumbed 

every hand ! 



The dirk and the target lie sordid with 

dust, 
The bloodless claymore is but reddened 

with rust ; 
On the hill or the glen if a gun should 

appear, 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or 

deer. 

The deeds ofour sires if our bards should 

rehearse. 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of 

their verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hushed 

every tone. 
That shall bid us remember the fame 

that is flown I 

But the dark hours of night and of 

slumber are past. 
The morn on our mountains is dawning 

at last ; 
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the 

rays. 
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap 

bright in the blaze. 

O high-minded Moray 1 — the exiled, — 
the dear ! — 

In the blush of the dawning the Stand- 
ard uprear ! 

Wide, wide to the winds of the north let 
it fly, 

Like the sun's latest flash when the 
tempest is nigh I 

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawn- 
ing shall break. 

Need the harp of the aged remind you 
to wake ? 

That dawn never beamed on your fore- 
fathers' eye 

But it roused each high chieftain to van- 
quish or die. 

O, sprung from the Kings who in Islay 

kept state, 
Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengary, 

and Sleat ! 
Combine like three streams from on© 

mountain of snow, 
And resistless in union rush down on 

the foe ! 
True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lo- 

chiel, 
Place thy targe on thy shoulder and 

burnish thy steel 1 



FROM WAVERLEY. 



405 



Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bu- 
gle's bold swell, 
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell ! 

Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief 

of Kintail, 
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild 

in the gale ! 
May theraceof Clan-Gillian, thefearless 

and free, 
Remember Glenlivet, Harlaw, and 
J Dundee ! 

Let the clan of gray Fingon, whose off- 
spring has given 

Such heroes to earth and such martyrs 
to heaven, 

Unite with the race of renowned Rorri 
More, 

To launch the long galley, and stretch 
to the oar ! 

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their 

chief shall display 
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of 

gray! 
How the race of wronged Alpine and 

murdered Glencoe 
Shall shout for revenge when they pour 

on the foe ! 

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the 
wild boar. 

Resume the pure faith of the great Gal- 
ium More ! 

Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of 
the Lake, 

For honor, for freedom, for vengeance 
awake ! 

Awake on your hill, on your islands 

awake. 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, 

and the lake ! 
'T is the bugle, — but not for the chase 

is the call ; 
'T is the pibroch's shrill summons, — 

but not to the hall. 

'T is the summons of heroes for con- 
quest or death. 

When the banners are blazing on 
mountain and heath ; 

They call to the dirk, the claymore, 
and the targe. 

To the march and the muster, the line 
and the charge. 



Be the brand of each chieftain like 

Fin's in his ire ! 
May the blood through his veins flow 

like currents of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your 

sires did of yore ! 
Or die like your sires, and endure it no 

more ! 



O LADY of the Desert, hail ! 
That lovest the harping of the Gael, 
Through fair and fertile regions born^ 
Where never yet grew grass or com. 

IX. 

TO AN OAK-TREE, 

IN THE CHURCHYARD OF , IN THE 

HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO 
MARK THE GRAVE OF CAPTAIN WO- 
GAN, KILLED IN 1649. 

Emblem of England's ancient faith. 
Full proudly may thy branches wave. 

Where loyalty lies low in death, 
And valor fills a timeless grave. 

And thou, brave tenant of the tomb ! 

Repine not if our clime deny. 
Above thine honored sod to bloom, 

The flowerets of a milder sky. 

These owe their birth to genial May ; 

Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, 
Before the winter storm decay, — 

Andean their worth be type of thine? 
No ! for 'mid storms of Fate opposing. 
Still higher swelled thy dauntless 
heart, 
And, while Despair the scene was clos- 
ing. 
Commenced thy brief but brilliant 
part. 

'T was then thou sought'st on Albyn's 
hill 
(When England's sons the strife re- 
signed), 
A rugged race resisting still. 

And unsubdued, though unrefined. 

Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, 
No holy knell thy requiem rung ; 

Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, 
Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. 

Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine 
To waste life's longest term away. 



4o6 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Would change that glorious dawn of 
thine, 
Though darkened ere its noontide 
day ? 

Be thine the Tree whose dauntless 
boughs 
Brave summer's drought and win- 
ter's gloom ! 
Rome bound with oak her patriot's 
brows, 
As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. 

X. 

We are bound to drive the bullocks, 
All by hollows, hirsts, and hillocks. 
Through the sleet and through the rain. 
When the moon is beaming low 
On frozen lake and hills of snow, 
Bold and heartily we go, 
And all for little gain. 



But follow, follow me, 

While glow-worms light the lea, 

1 '11 show ye where the dead should be — 

Each in his shroud, 

While winds pipe loud. 
And the red moon peeps dim through 
the cloud. 

Follow, follow me: 
Brave should he be 

That treads by the night the dead 
man's lea. 

FROM GUY MANNERING. 



Canny moment, lucky fit ; 

Is the lady lighter yet ? 

Be it lad, or be it lass, 

Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass. 

Trefoil, vervain, John's wort, dill, 
Hinders witches of their will ; 
Weel is them, that weel may 
Fast upon St. Andrew's day. 

Saint Bride and her brat. 
Saint Colme and her cat, 
Saint Michael and his spear, 
Keep the house frae reif and wear 



Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle shades of joy and woe, 



Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, 
In the thread of human Hfe. 

While the mystic twist is spinning, 
And the infant's life beginning, 
Dimly seen through twilight bending, 
Lo, what varied shapes attending ! 

Passions wild, and follies vain. 
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; 
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear. 
In the magic dance appear. 

Now they wax, and now they dwindle, 
Whirling with the whirling spindle. 
Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, 
Mingle human bliss and woe. 

III. 
Wasted, weary, wherefore stay. 
Wrestling thus with earth and clay? 
From the body pass away ; — 

Hark ! the mass is singing. 

From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
Mary Mother be thy speed. 
Saints to help thee at thy need ; — 
Hark ! the knell is ringing. 

Fear not snow-drift driving fast. 
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; 
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast. 
And the sleep be on thee cast 

That shall ne'er know waking:. 

Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, 
Earth flits fast, and time draws on, — 
Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan. 
Day is near the breaking. 

Heaven cannot abide it ; 
Earth refuses to hide it. 



Open lock, end strife. 
Come death, and pass life. 

IV. 

Dark shall be light, _ 

And wrong done to right. 

When Bertram's right and Bertram's 

might 
Shall meet on Ellangowan's height. 

FROM THE ANTIQUARY. 

I. 

He came, — but valor had so fired his 

eye. 
And such a falchion glittered on his 
thigh. 



FROM THE ANTIQUARY. 



407 



That, by the gods, with such a load of 

steel, 
I thought he came to murder, — not to 

heal. 



" Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall, 
Thou aged carle so stem and gray ? 

Dost thou its former pride recall, 
Or ponder how it passed away?" 

" Know'st thou not me?" the Deep 
Voice cried ; 

" So long enjoyed, so oft misused, — 
Alternate, in thy fickle pride, 

Desired, neglected, and accused ! 

" Before my breath, like blazing flax, 

Man and his marvels pass away ! 
And changing empires wane and wax, 

Are founded, flourish, and decay. 
"Redeem mine hours, — the space is 
brief, — 
While in my glass the sand-grains 
shiver. 
And measureless thy joy or grief, 
When Time and thou shalt part for- 
ever ! " 



Heir lyeth John o' ye Girnell, 
Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirnell. 
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis clokit. 
Ilka gud mannis herth wi' bairnis was 

stokit. 
He deled a boll o' bear in firlottis fyve. 
Four for ye halie kirke and ane for puir 

mennis wyvis. 

IV. 

THEherringloves the merrymoonlight. 
The mackerel loves the wind. 

But the oyster loves the dredging sang, 
For they come of a gentle kind. 

Now baud your tongue, baith wife and 
carle, 

And listen great and sma'. 
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl 

That fought on the red Harlaw. 

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie, 

And doun the Don and a'. 
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' 
be 

For the sair field of Harlaw. 



They saddled a hundred milk-white 

steeds. 

They hae bridled a hundred black, 

With a chafron of steel on each horse's 

head. 

And a good knight upon his back. 

They had na ridden a mile, a mile, 

A mile but barely ten. 
When Donald came branking down the 
brae 

Wi' twenty thousand men. 

Their tartans they were waving wide, 
Their glaives were glancing clear. 

The pibrochs rung frae side to side. 
Would deafen ye to hear. 

The great Earl in his stirrups stood. 
That Highland host to see : 

" Now here a knight that 's stout and 
good 
May prove a jeopardie : 

" What wouldst thou do, my squire so 

That rides beside my reyne, — 

Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day. 

And I were Roland Cheyne ? 

" To turn the rein were sin and shame, 
To fight were wondrous peril, — 

What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, 
Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? " 

" Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, 
And ye were Roland Cheyne, 

The spur should be in my horse's side, 
And the bridle upon his mane. 

" If they hae twenty thousand blades. 
And we twice ten times ten, 

Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, 
And we are mail-clad men. 

" My horse shall ride through ranks 
sae rude, 

As through the moorland fern, — 
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude 

Grow cauld for Highland kern." 



He turned him right and round again. 
Said, Scorn na at my mither ; 

Light loves I may get mony a ane. 
But minnie ne'er anither. 



4o8 



SO^rGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



FROM ROB ROY. 

I. 

TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD THE 
BLACK PRINCE. 

O FOR the voice of that wild horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

The dying hero's call, 
That told imperial Charlemagne, 
How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain, 

Had wrought his champion's 
fall. 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding, 
And England's distant cliffs astound- 
ing, 
Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's 

fear, 
Victor of Cressy an-d Poitier, 
In Bourdeaux dying lay. 

"Raise my faint head, my squires," he 

said, 
" And let the casement be displayed. 

That I may see once more 
The splendor of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirrored wave, Ga- 
ronne, 
And Blaye's empurpled shore." 

" Like me, he sinks to Glorj^'s sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear, 
When England's maids and matrons 
hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

" And though my sun of glory set, 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise, 
New planets in these southern skies. 

Through clouds of blood and 
flame." 



TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. 

Ladies, and knights, and arms, and 
love's fair flame, 
Deeds of emprise and courtesy, I 
sing ; 
What time the Moors from sultry Africk 
came. 
Led on by Agramant, their youthful 
king, — 



He whom revenge and hasty ire did 

bring 
O'er the broad wave, in France to 

waste and war ; 
Such ills from old Trojano's death did 

spring. 
Which to avenge he came from realms 

afar, 
And menaced Christian Charles, the 

Roman Emperor. 

Of dauntless Ronald, too, my strain 
shall sound, 
In import never known in prose and 
rhyme, 
How He, the chief of judgment deemed 
profound, 
For luckless love was crazed upon a 
time. — 

FROM OLD MORTALITY. 
I. 

And what though winter will pinch se- 
vere 
Through locks of gray and a cloak 
that 's old, 
Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier. 
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 

For time will rust the brightest blade. 
And years will break the strongest 
bow; 

Was never wight so starkly made. 
But time and years would overthrow. 



verses found, WITH A LOCK OF 
HAIR, IN BOTHWELL's POCKET-BOOK. 

Thy hue,dearpledge,ispure and bright, 
As in that well-remembered night, 
When first thy mystic braid was wove. 
And first my Agnes whispered love. 

Since then how often hast thou 
pressed 

The torrid zone of this wild breast. 

Whose wrath and hate have sworn to 
dwell 

With the first sin that peopled hell. 

A breast whose blood 's a troubled 
ocean. 

Each throb the earthquake's wild com- 
motion ! — 

O, if such clime thou canst endure. 

Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure. 



FROM A LEGEND OF MONTROSE. 



409 



What conquest o'er each erring thought 
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought! 
I had not wandered wild and wide, 
With such an angel for my guide : 
Nor heaven nor earth could then re- 
prove me 
If she had lived, and lived to love me. 

Not then this world's wild joys had 
been 
To me one savage hunting-scene. 
My sole delight the headlong race, 
And frantic hurry of the chase ; 
" To start, pursue, and bring to bay, 
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, 
Then — from the carcass turn away ! 
* Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, 
And soothed each wound which pride 

inflamed I 
Yes, God and man might now approve 

me. 
If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me. 



EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY. 

Here lyes ana saint to prelates surly. 
Being John Balfour, sometime of Bur- 
ley, 
Who, stirred up to vengeance take, 
Forsolemn Leagueand Cov'nant'ssake, 
Upon the Magus- Moor, in Fife, 
Did tak' James Sharpe the apostate's 

life; 
By Dutchman's hand was hacked and 

shot, 
Then drowned in Clyde near this saara 
spot. 

FROM A LEGEND OF MONT- 
ROSE. 



Woe, woe, son of the Lowlander, 
Why wilt thou leave thine own bonny 

Border ? 
Why comest thou hither disturbing 

the Highlander, 
Wasting the glen that was once in 

fair order ? 



ANNOT LVLE S SONG. 

Birds of omen dark and foul, 
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, 



Leave the sick man to his dream, — 
All night long he heard you scream. 
Haste to cave and ruined tower, 
Ivy-tod, or dingled bower. 
There to wink and mope, for, hark 1 
In the mid-air sings the lark. 

Hie to moorish gills and rocks, 
Prowling wolf and wily fox. 
Hie ye fast, nor turn your view. 
Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. 
Couch yourtrains, and speed your flighty 
Safety parts with parting night ; 
And, on distant echo borne, 
Comes the hunter's early horn. 

The moon's wan crescent scarcely 

gleams, 
Ghost-like she fades in morning-beams ; 
Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay 
That scare the pilgrim on his way. — 
Quench, kelpy ! quench in bog and fen. 
Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; 
Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done. 
For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. 

Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and 

deep, 
O'erpower the passive mind in sleep. 
Pass from the slumberer's soul away. 
Like night-mists from the brow of day: 
Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim 
Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, 
Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! 
Thou darest not face the godlike sun. 

HI. 

Gaze not upon the stars, fond sage. 

In them no influence lies ; 
To read the fate of youth or age, 

Look on my Helen's eyes. 
Yet, vast astrologer, refrain ! 

Too dearly would be won 
The prescience of another's pain, 

If purchased by thine own. 

IV. 
THE ORPHAN MAID. 

November's hail-cloud drifts away, 

November's sunbeam wan 
Looks coldly on the castle gray. 

When forth comes Lady Anne. 

The orphan by the oak was set. 
Her arms, her feet were bare ; 

The hail- drops had not melted yet 
Amid her raven hair. 



4IO 



S02VGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



"And, dame," she said, "by all the 
ties 

That child and mother know, 
Aid one who never knew these joys, — 

Relieve an orphan's woe." 

The lady said : " An orphan's state 

Is hard and sad to bear ; 
Yet worse the widowed mother's fate. 

Who mourns both lord and heir. 

" Twelve times the rolling year has 
sped, 

Since, from the vengeance wild 
Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, 

Forth's eddies whelmed my child." 

" Twelve times the year its course has 
borne," 

The wandering maid replied, 
" Since fishers on St. Bridget's morn. 

Drew nets on Campsie side. 

" St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; — 

An infant, wellnigh dead. 
They saved, and reared in want and toil. 

To beg from you her bread." 

The orphan maid the lady kissed, — 
•' My husband's looks you bear ; 

Saint Bridget and her morn be blessed ! 
You are his widow's heir." 

They 've robed that maid, so poor and 
pale. 

In silk and sandals rare : 
And pearls, for drops of frozen hail. 

Are glistening in her hair. 



GAELIC SONG. 

Wert thou, like me, in life's low vale. 

With thee how blest that lot I 'd 
share ; 
With thee I 'd fly wherever gale 

Could waft, or bounding galley bear. 
But parted by severe decree, 

Far different must our fortunes prove ; 
May thine be joy ! — enough for me 

To weep and pray for him I love. 

The pangs this foolish heart must feel. 
When hope shall be forever flown. 

No sullen murmur shall reveal. 
No selfish murmurs ever own. 

Nor will I through life's weary years 
Like a pale, drooping mourner move, 



While I can think my secret tears 
May wound the heart of him I love. 

FROM THE HEART OF MID- 
LOTHIAN. 



MADGE wildfire's SONGS. 

When the gledd 's in the blue cloud, 

The laverock lies still ; 
When the hound 's in the greenwood, 

The hind keeps the hill. 

SLEEP ye sound, Sir James, she said, 
When ye suld rise and ride ? ^ 

There 's twenty men, wi' bow and blade. 
Are seeking where ye hide. 

1 GLANCE like the wildfire through coun- 

try and town ; 
I 'm seen on the causeway, — I 'm seen 

on the down ; 
The lightning that flashes so bright and 

so free 
Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. 

What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bri- 
dal ring — bridal ring ? 

What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye 
little cutty quean, O ? 

I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, 

I gied it till a sodger, an auld true-love 
o' mine, O. 

Good even, good fair moon, good even 

to thee ; 
I prithee, dear moon, now show to me 
The form and the features, the speech 

and degree. 
Of the man that true lover of mine 

shall be. 



It is the bonny butcher lad. 
That wears the sleeves of blue ; 

He sells the flesh on Saturday, 
On Friday that he slew. 

There 's a blood-hound ranging Tin- 
wald Wood, 

There 's harness glancing sheen ; 
There 's a maiden sits on Tinwald bra«. 

And she sings loud between. 



FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. 



4" 



With my curtch on my foot, and my 

shoe on my hand, 
I glance hke the wildfire through brugh 

and through land. 

In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 

Ere I was ane-and-twenty, 
I had hempen bracelets strong. 
And merry whips, ding-dong, 

And prayer and fasting plenty. 

I 'm Madge of the country, I 'm Madge 

of the town, 
And I 'm Madge of the lad I am 

blithest to own, — 
The Lady of Beever in diamonds may 

shine. 
But has not a heart half so lightsome 

as mine. 

I am Queen of the Wake, and I 'm 

Lady of May, 
And I lead the blithe ring round the 

May-pole to-day ; 
The wildfire that flashes so fair and so 

free 
Was never so bright, or so bonny as 

me. 



Our work is over, — over now, 
The goodman wipes his weary brow. 
The last long wain wends slow away. 
And we are free to sport and play. 

The night comes on when sets the sun. 
And labor ends when day is done. 
When Autumn 's gone, and Winter 's 

come, 
We hold our jovial harvest-home. 

When the fight of grace is fought, — 
When the marriage vest is wrought, — 
When Faith has chased cold Doubt 

away, — • 
And Hope but sickens at delay, ^ 
When Charity, imprisoned here. 
Longs for a more expanded sphere ; 
Doff thy robes of sin and clay ; 
Christian, rise, and come away. 



Cauld is my bed. Lord Archibald, 
And sad my sleep of sorrow ; 

But thine sail be as sad and cauld. 
My fause true-love ! to-morrow. 



An4 weep ye not, my maidens free, 
Though death your mistress borrow ; 

For he for whom I die to-day 
Shall die for me to-morrow. 



Proud Maisie is in the wood. 

Walking so early ; 
Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 

Singing so rarely. 

" Tell me, thou bonny bird, 

When shall I marry me? " 
" When six braw gentlemen 

Kirkward shall carry ye." 

" Who makes the bridal bed, 

Birdie, say truly ? " 
" The gray-headed sexton 

That delves the grave duly. 

" The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 

Shall light thee steady ; 
The owl from the steeple sing, 

' Welcome, proud lady.' " 

FROM THE BRIDE OF LAM- 
MERMOOR. 



Look not thou on beauty's charming, — 
Sit thou still when kings are arming, — 
Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, — 
Speak not when the people listens, — 
Stop thine ear against the singer, — 
From the red gold keep thy finger, — 
Vacant heart, and hand, and eye. 
Easy live and quiet die. 



The monk must arise when the matins 
ring. 
The abbot may sleep to their chime ; 
But the yeoman must start when the 
bugles sing, 
'T is time, my hearts, 't is time. 

There 's bucks and raes on Billhope 
braes, 

There 's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; 
But a lily-white doe in the garden goes, 

She 's fairly worth them a'. 

III. 
When the last Laird of Ravenswood to 

Ravenswood shall ride. 
And woo a dead maiden to be his bride, 



»" 



SOIVGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie's 

flow, 
And his name shall be lost forever- 

moe ! 

FROM IVANHOE. 



THE CRUSADER S RETURN. 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame. 
From Palestine the champion came ; 
The cross upon his shoulders borne, 
Battle and blast had dimmed and torn. 
Each dint upon his battered shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 
And thus, beneath his lady's bower. 
He sung, as fell the twilight hour : 

" Joy to the fair ! — thy knight behold, 
Returned from yonder land of gold ; 
No wealth he brings, nor wealth can 

need, 
Save his good arm and battle-steed ; 
His spurs to dash against a foe. 
His lance and sword to lay him low ; 
Such all the trophies of his toil, 
Such — and the hope of Tekla's smile ! 

"Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favor fired to feats of might ! 
Unnoted shall she not remain 
Where meet the bright and noble train ; 
Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell. — 
* Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 
'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Ascalon ! 

*' ' Note well her smile ! — it edged the 

blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made. 
When, vain his strength and Mahound's 

spell, 
Iconium's turbaned Soldan fell. 
Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of 

snow ? 
Twines not of them one golden thread, 
But for its sake a Paynim bled.' 

" Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown, 
Each deed, and all its praise, thine own ; 
Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate. 
The night-dew falls, the hour is late. 



Inured to Syria's glowing breath, 
I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 
Let grateful love quell maiden shame, 
And grant him bliss who brings thee 
fame." 



THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. 

I 'll give thee, good fellow, a twelve- 
month or twain. 

To search Europe through from Byzan- 
tium to Spain ; 

But ne'er shall you find, should you 
search till you tire. 

So happy a man as the Barefooted 
Friar. 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in 
career, 

And is brought home at even-song 
pricked through with a spear; 

I confess him in haste, — for his lady 
desires 

No comfort on earth save the Bare- 
footed Friar's. 

Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a 
prince has been known 

To barter his robes for our cowl and 
our gown : 

But which ol us e'er felt the idle desire 

To exchange for a crown the gray hood 
of a Friar ! 

The Friar has walked out, and where'er 
he has gone. 

The land and its fatness is marked for 
his own ; 

He can roam where he lists, he can 
stop when he tires, 

For every man's house is the Bare- 
footed Friar's. 

He 's expected at noon, and no wight, 

till he comes, 
May profane the great chair, or the 

porridge of plums ; 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat 

by the fire, 
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted 

Friar. 

He 's expected at night, and the pasty 's 

made hot. 
They broach the brown ale, and they 

fill the black pot ; 



FROM I VAN HOE. 



413 



And the goodwife would wish the good- 
man in the mire, 

Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the Bare- 
footed Friar. 

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and 

the cope, 
The dread of the Devil and trust of the 

Pope ! 
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by 

the brier, 
Is granted alone to the Barefooted 

Friar. 

III. 
Norman saw on English oak, * 
On English neck a Norman yoke ; 
Norman spoon in English dish. 
And England ruled as Normans wish ; 
Blithe world in England never will be 

more, 
Till England 's rid of all the four. 

IV. 

Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist ! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving 
of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal cham- 
ber. 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling ! 

Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist ! 

The black clouds are low over the 

thane's castle : 
The eagle screams, — he rides on their 

bosom. 
Scream not, gray rider of the sable 

cloud. 
Thy banquet is prepared ! 
The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 
The race of Hengist will send them 

guests. 
Shake your black tresses, maidens of 

Valhalla ! 
And strike your loud timbrels for 

joy! 
Many a haughty step bends to your 

halls. 
Many a helmed head. 



Dark sits the evening upon the thane's 

castle, 
The black clouds gather round ; 
Soon shall they be red as the blood of 

the valiant 1 
The destroyer of forests shall shake his 

red crest against them ; 
He, the bright consumer of palaces. 
Broad waves he his blazing banner. 
Red, white, and dusky. 
Over the strife of the valiant ; 
His joy is in the clashing swords and 

broken bucklers ; 
He loves to lick the hissing blood as it 

bursts warm from the wound ! 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armor is pierced by the 

lance ; 
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes. 
Engines break down the fences of the 

battle._ 
All must perish ! 
The race of Hengist is gone, — 
The name of Horaa is no more ! 
Shrink not then from your doom, sons 

of the sword ! 
Let your blades drink blood like wine ; 
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter. 
By the light of the blazing halls ! 
Strong be your swords while your blood 

is warm, 
And spare neither for pity nor fear, 
For vengeance hath but an hour ; 
Strong hate itself shall expire ! 
I also must perish. 

V. 
Rebecca's hymn. 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out from the land of bondage came, 
Her fathers' God before her moved. 

An awful guide in smoke and llame. 
By day, along the astonished lands. 

The cloudy pillar glided slow : 
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands 

Returned the fiery column's glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 
And trump and timbrel answered 
keen. 
And Zion's daughters poured their lays, 
With priest's and warrior's voice be- 
tween. 



414 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



No portents now our foes amaze, 
Forsaken Israel wanders lone : 

Our fathers would not know Thy waj'S, 
And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But present still, though now unseen ! 

When brightly shines the prosperous 
day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 

To temper the deceitful ray. 
And O, when stoops on Judah's path 

In shade and storm the frequent 
night, 
Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel's streams. 

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; 
No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, " The blood of 
goat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 
A contrite heart, a humble thought, 

Are mine accepted sacrifice." 



THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 
Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun. 
Mists are dispersing, love, birds sing- 
ing free. 
Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 
Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 
The hunter is winding blithe sounds on 

his horn, 
The echo rings merry from rock and 

from tree, 
'T is time to arouse thee, love, Anna- 
Marie. 

WAMBA. 

O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not 

yet. 
Around my soft pillow while softer 

dreams flit ; 
For what are the joys that in waking 

we prove, 
Comparedwith these visions, OTybalt ! 

my love ? 
Let the birds to the rise of the mist 

carol shrill, 
Let the hunter blow out his loud horn 

on the hill. 



Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slum- 
ber I prove, 

But think not I dreamed of thee, Ty- 
balt, my love. 

VII. 
KNIGHT AND WAMBA. 

There came three merry men from 
south, west, and north. 
Evermore sing the roundelay ; 
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, 
And where was the widow might say 
them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from Tyne- 
dale he came. 
Evermore sing the roundelay ; 
And his fathers, God save us, were meii 
of great fame. 
And where was the widow might say 
him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the 
squire. 
He boasted in rhyme and in rounde- 
lay ; 
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal 
fire. 
For she was the widow would say 
him nay. 

WAMBA. 

The next that came forth swore by 
blood and by nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 
Hur 's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's 
lineage w-as of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say 
him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap 
Hugh 
Ap Tudor Ap Rhice, quoth his 
roundelay ; 
She said that one widow for so many 
was too few, 
And she bade the Welshman wend 
his way. 
But then next came a yeoman, a yeo- 
man of Kent, 
Jollily singing his roundelay ;_ 
He spoke to the widow of living and 
rent. 
And where was the widow could say 
him nay ? 



FROM THE MONASTERY. 



411S 



BOTH. 

So the knight and the squire were both 
left in the mire. 
There for to sing the roundelay : 
Fur a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly 
rent, 
There ne'er was a widow could say 
him nay. 



FUNERAL HYMN. 

Dust unto dust, 
To this all must : 

The tenant hath resigned 
The faded form 
To waste and worm, — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 
Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 

Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 
By Mary's grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 
Till prayers and alms. 
And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 

FROM THE MONASTERY. 



Take thou no scorn, 

Of fiction born. 
Fair fiction's muse to woo ; 

Old Homer's theme 

Was but a dream, 
Himself a fiction too. 



BORDER SONG. 

March, march, Ettrick and Teviot- 
dale, 
Why the deil dinna ye march forward 
in order ? 
March, march, Eskdale and Liddes- 
dale. 
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for 
the Border. 
Many a banner spread 
Flutters above your head, 



Many a crest that is famous in story. 
Mount and make ready then, 
Sons of the mountain glen, 

Fight for the Queen and the old Scot- 
tish glory. 

Come from the hills where the hirsels 
are grazing, 
Come from the glen of the buck and 
the roe ; 
Come to the crag where the beacon is 
blazing, 
Come with the buckler, the lance, 
and the bow. 
Trumpets are sounding, 
War-steeds are bounding. 
Stand to your arms, then, and march ' 
in good order, 
England shall many a day 
Tell of the bloody fray, 
When the Blue Bonnets came over 
the Border. 



SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF 
AVENEL. 

Fording the River. 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines 

bright, 
Both current and ripple are dancing in 

light. 
We have roused the night raven, I 

heard him croak, 
As we plashed along beneath the oak 
That flings its broad branches so far 

and so wide, 
Their shadows are dancing in midst of 

the tide. 
" Who wakens my nestlings ! " the ra- 
ven he said, 
" My beak shall ere morn in his blood 

be red ! 
For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty 

meal, 
And I '11 have my share with the pike 

and the eel." 

Merrily swim we, the moon shines 

bright. 
There 's a golden gleam on the distant 

height : 
There 's a silver shower on the alders 

dank. 
And the drooping willows that wave on 

the bank. 



4i6 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



I see the Abbey, both turret and tower, 
It is all astir for the vesper hour ; 
The Monks for the chapel are leaving 

each cell, 
But where 's Father Philip, should toll 

the bell? 

Merrilv swim we, the moon sliines 
bright, 

Downward we drift through shadow and 
light. 

Under yon rock the eddies sleep. 

Calm and silent, dark and deep. 

The Kelpy has risen from the fathom- 
less pool, 

He has lighted his candle of death and 
of dool : 

Look, F'ather, look, and you '11 laugh 
to see 

How he gapes and glares with his eyes 
on thee ! 

Good luck to your fishing, whom watch 

ye to-night? 
A man of mean or a man of might ? 
Is it layman or priest that must float in 

your cove, 
Or lover who crosses to visit his 

love ? 
Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we 

passed, — 
"God's blessing on the warder, he 

locked the bridge fast ! 
All that come to my cove are sunk, 
Priest or layman, lover or monk." 

Landed — landed ! the black book hath 
won, 

Else had you seen Berwick with morn- 
ing sun ! 

Sain ve, and save ye, and blithe mot ye 
'be, 

For seldom they land that go swimming 
with me. 



TO THE SUB-PRIOR. 

Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as 
you ride, 

With your mule so fair, and your man- 
tle so wide ; 

But ride you through valley, or ride you 
o'er hill, 



There is one that has warrant to wait 
on you still. 

Back, back. 

The volume black ! 
I have a warrant to carry it back. 

What, ho ! Sub-Prior, and came you 

but here 
To conjure a book from a dead woman's 

bier? 
Sain you, and save you, be wary and 

wise, 
Ride back with the book, or you '11 pay 

for your prize. 
Back, back, 

There 's death in the track ! 
In the name of my master, I bid thee 

bear back. 



That which is neither ill nor well. 
That which belongs not to heaven nor 

to hell, 
A wTeath of the mist, a bubble of the 

stream, 
'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping 
dream ; 
A form that men spy 
With the half-shut eye 
In the beams of the setting sun, am L 

Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me 

my right ! 
Like the star when it shoots, I can dart 

through the night ; 
I can dance on the torrent, and ride on 

the air. 
And travel the world with the bonny 

nightmare.* 
Again, again. 
At the crook of the glen, 
Where bickers the bumie, I '11 meet 

thee again. 



Men of good are bold as sackless. 
Men of rude are wild and reckless. 
Lie thou still 
In the nook of the hill. 
For those be before thee that wish thee 
ill. 



Thank the holly-bush 
That nods on thy brow, 



FROM THE MONASTERY. 



4^7 



Or with his slender rush 
I had strangled thee now. 



HALBERT S INCANTATION. 

Thrice to the holly brake, — 

Thrice to the well : — 
I bid thee awake, 

White Maid of Avenel ! 

Noon gleams on the Lake, 
Noon glows on the Fell. — 

Wake thee, O wake. 
White Maid of Avenel. 

TO HALBERT. 

Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst 

thou call me? 
Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can 

appall thee? 
He that seeks to deal with us must 

know nor fear, nor failing ; 
To coward and churl our speech is dark, 

our gifts are unavailing. 
The breeze that brought me hither now 

must sweep Egyptian ground, 
The fleecy cloud on which I ride for 

Araby is bound ; 
The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the 

breeze sighs for my stay. 
For I must sail a thousand miles before 

the close of day. 



What I am I must not show, — 
What I am thou couldst not know, — 
Something betwixt heaven and hell, — 
Somethingthat neither stood nor fell, — 
Something that through thy wit or will 
May work thee good, — may work thee 

ill. 
Neither substance quite, nor shadow, 
Haunting lonely moor and meadow. 
Dancing by the haunted spring. 
Riding on the wiiirlwind's wing, 
Aping in fantastic fashion 
Every change of human passion, 
While o'er our frozen minds they pass. 
Like shadows from the mirrored glass. 
Wayward, fickle, is our mood, 
Hovering betwixt bad and good, 
Happier than brief-dated man. 
Living twenty times his span ; 
27 



Far less happy, for we have 
Help nor hope beyond the grave 1 
Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; 
Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. 
This is all that I can show, — 
This is all that thou mayst know. 

Ay ! and I taught thee the word and 

the spell 
To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. 
But thou hast loved the heron and 

hawk, 
More than to seek my haunted walk ; 
And thou hast loved the lance and the 

sword. 
More than good text and holy word ; 
And thou hast loved the deer to track, 
More than the lines and the letters 

black ; 
Andthouart a rangerof moss and wood, 
Andscornest the nurture of gentle blood. 



Thy craven fear my truth accused, 
Thine idlehood my trust abused ; 
He that draws to harbor late, 
Must sleep without, or burst the gate. 
There is a star for thee which burned. 
Its influence wanes, its course is turned ; 
Valor and constancy alone 
Can bring thee back the chance that 's 
flown. 



Within that awful volume lies 
The mystery of mysteries ! 
Happiest they of human race. 
To whom God has granted grace 
To read, to fear, to hope, to pray. 
To lift the latch, and force the way ; 
And better had they ne'er been born, 
Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. 



Many a fathom dark and deep 
T have laid the book to sleep : 
Ethereal fires around it glowing, 
Ethereal music ever flowing, — 

The sacred pledge of Heaven 
All things revere, 
Each in his sphere, 

Save man for whom 't was given i 
Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy 
Things ne'er seen by mortal eye. 



4xS 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Fearest thou to go with me ? 
Still it is free to thee 

A peasant to dwell ; 
Thou mayst drive the dull steer, 
And chase the king's deer, 
But nevermore come near 

This haunted well. 



Here lies the volume thou hast boldly 

sought ; 
Touch it, and take it, 'twill dearly be 

bought 



Rash thy deed, 
Mortal weed 
To immortal flames applying ; 
Rasher trust 
Has thing of dust. 
On his own weak worth relying ; 
Strip thee of such fences vain, 
Strip, and prove thy luck again. 



Mortal warp and mortal woof 
Cannot brook this charmed roof; 
All that mortal art hath wrought 
In our cell returns to naught. 
The molten gold returns to clay. 
The polished diamond melts away ; 
All is altered, all is flown, 
Naught stands fast but truth alone. 
Not for that thy quest give o'er : 
Courage ! prove thy chance once more. 



Alas ! alas ! 

Not ours the grace 

These holy characters to trace ; 

Idle forms of painted air, 

Not to us is given to share 
The boon bestowed on Adam's race. 

With patience bide. 

Heaven will provide 
The fitting time, the fitting guide. 

vn. 

TO THE SAME. 

This is the day when the fairy kind 
Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot. 
And the wood-maiden sighs to the 

sighing wind. 
And the mermaiden weeps in her crys- 
tal grot ; 



For this is a day that the deed was 

wrought. 
In which we have neither part nor share. 
For the children of clay was salvation 

bought. 
But not for the forms of sea or air ! 
And ever the mortal is most forlorn, 
Who meeteth our race on the Friday 

mom. 



Daring youth ! for thee it is well, 

Here calling me in haunted dell, 

That thy heart has not quailed, 

Nor thy courage fail'd, 

And that thou couldst brook 

The angry look 

Of Her of Avenel. 

Did one limb shiver. 

Or an eyelid quiver. 

Thou wert lost forever. 
Though I am formed from the ether 

blue. 
And my blood is of the unfallen dew, 
And thou art framed of mud and dust, 
'T is thine to speak, reply I must. 



A MIGHTIER wizard far than I 
Wields o'er the universe his power; 
Him owns the eagle in the sky. 
The turtle in the bower. 
Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still. 
He wields the heart of man at will, 
From ill to good, ft-om good to ill. 
In cot and castle-tower. 



Ask thy heart, whose secret cell 
Is filled with Mary Avenel ! 
Ask thy pride, why scornful look 
In Mary's view it will not brook ? 
Ask it, why thou seek'st to rise 
Among the mighty and the wise, — 
Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot, — 
Why thy pastimes are forgot, — 
Why thou wouldst in bloody strife 
Mend thy luck or lose thy life ? 
Ask thy heart, and it shall tell, 
Sighing from its secret cell, 
'T is for Mary Avenel. 
Do not ask me ; 
On doubts like these thou canst not 

task me. 
We only see the passing show 



FROM THE MONASTERY. 



419 



Of human passions' ebb and flow ; 
And view the pageant's idle glance 
As mortals eye the northern dance. 
When thousand streamers, flashing 

bright, 
Career it o'er the brow of night, 
Andgazers mark their changeful gleams, 
But feel no influence from their beams. 



By ties mysterious linked, our fated 

race 
Holds strange connection with the sons 

of men. 
The star that rose upon the House of 

Avenel, 
When Norman Ulric first assumed the 

name, — 
That star, when culminating in its orbit. 
Shot from its spear a drop of diamond 

dew, 
And this bright font received it ; — and 

a Spirit 
Rose from the fountain, and her date 

of life 
Hath coexistence with the House of 

Avenel, 
And with the star that rules it. 



Look on my girdle, -r on this thread of 

gold, — 
'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer. 
And, but there is a spell on 't, would 

not bind. 
Light as they are, the folds of my thin 

robe. 
But when 't was donned, it was a mas- 
sive chain. 
Such as might bind the champion of the 

Jews, 
Even when his locks were longest, — it 

hath dwindled, 
Hath'minished in its substance and its 

strength, 
As sunk the greatness of the House of 

Avenel. 
When this frail thread gives way, I to 

the elements 
Re.sign the principles of life they lent me. 
Ask me no more of this ! — the stars 

forbid it. 
Dim bunis the once bright star of 

Avenel, 



Dim as the beacon when the mom is 

nigh. 
And the o'er-wearied warder leaves the 

light-house ; 

There is an influence sorrowful and fear- 
ful. 

That dogs its downward course. Dis- 
astrous passion, 

Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the 
aspect 

That lowers upon its fortunes. 



Complain not on me, child of clay, 
If to thy harm I yield the way. 
We, who soar thy sphere above. 
Know not aught of hate or love ; 
As will or wisdom rules thy mood, 
I\Iy gifts to evil turn or good. 
When Piercie Shafton boasteth high. 
Let this token meet his eye, 
The sun is westering from the dell. 
Thy wish is granted, — fare thee well I 

vm. 

TO THE SAME. 

He, whose heart for vengeance sued. 
Must not shrink from shedding blood ; 
The knot that thou hast tied with word 
Thou must loose bv edge of sword. 



You have summoned me once, you have 

summoned me twice. 
And without e'er a summons I come to 

you thrice ; 
Unasked for, unsued for, you came to 

my glen, 
Unsued and unasked, I am with you 

again. 



TO MARY AVENEL. 

Maiden, whose sorrows wail the Living 
Dead, 
Whose eyes shall commune with the 
Dead Alive, 
Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot lies 
hid 
The Word, the Law, the Path which 
thou dost strive 
To find, and canst not find. — Could 
Spirits shed 
Tears for their lot, it were my lot to 
weep, 



420 



SOA^GS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Showing the road which I shall never 
tread, 
Though my foot points it. — Sleep, 
eternal sleep, 
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my 
lot ! — 
But do not thou at human ills repine ; 
Secure there lies full guerdon in this 
spot 
For all the woes that wait frail Adam's 
line, — 
Stoop then and make it yours, — I may 
not make it mine I 



TO KDWARD GLENDINNING. 

Thou who seek'st my fountain lone, 
With thoughts and hopes thou dar'st 

not own ; 
Whose heart within leaped wildly glad. 
When most his brow seemed dark and 

sad ; 
Hie thee back, thou find'st not here 
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier ; 
The Dead Alive is gone and fled, — 
Go thou and join the Living Dead I 

The Living Dead, whose sober brow 
Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast 

now. 
Whose hearts within are seldom cured 
Of passions by their vows abjured ; 
Where, under sad and solemn show. 
Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes 

glow. 
Seek the convent's vaulted room. 
Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; 
Doff the green, and don the gray, 
To the cloister hence away ! 



THE WHITE LADY S FAREWELL. 

Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! 
Thou shalt seldom now be seen. 
With all thyglittering garlands bending, 
As to greet my slow descending. 
Startling the bewildered hind. 
Who sees thee wave without a wind. 

Farewell, Fountain ! now not long 
Shalt thou murmur to my song. 
While thy crystal bubbles glancing 
Keep the time in mystic dancing, 



Rise and swell, are burst and lost. 
Like mortal schemes byfortune crossed. 

The knot of fate at length is tied. 
The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride 1 
Vainly did my magic sleight 
Send the lover from her sight ; 
Wither bush, and perish well, 
Fallen is lofty Avenel 1 

FROM THE ABBOT. 

LisTNETH, gode people, everiche one 
For in the londe of Babylone, 
Far eastward ! I wot it lyeth, 
And is the first londe the sonne espieth, 
Ther, as he cometh fro out the se ; 
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me. 
Right as holie legendes tell, 
Snottreth from a roke a well. 
And fajleth into ane bath of ston, 
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon. 
Was wont to wash herbodie and lim ; — 
Mickle vertue hath that streme. 
As ye shall se er that ye pas, 
Ensample by this little glas ; 
Through nightes cold and 4.ayes hote, 
Hiderward I have it brought ; 
Hath a wife made slip or slide. 
Or a maiden stepp'd aside ; 
Putteth this water under her nese, 
Wold she nold she, she shall snese. 

FROM KENILWORTH. 
I. 

goldthred's song. 

Of all the birds on bush or tree, 

Commend me to the owl, 
Since he may best ensample be 
To those the cup that trowl. 
For when the sun hath left the west, 
He chooses the tree that he loves the 

best, 
And he whoops out his song, and he 

laughs at his jest ; 
Then though hours be late, and weather 

foul. 
We '11 drink to the health of the bonny, 
bonny owl. 

The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, 
He sleeps in his nest till mom ; 



FROM THE PIRATE. 



421 



But my blessing upon the jolly owl, 

That all night blows his horn. 

I'hen up with your cup till you stagger 

in speech, 
And match me this catch though you 

swagger and screech, 
And drink till you wink, my merry 

men each ; 
For though hours be late, and weather 

be foul. 
We '11 drink to the health of the bonny, 

bonny owl. 



SPEECH OF THE PORTER TO THE 
QUEEN. 

What stir, what turmoil, have we for 

the nones? 
Stand back, my masters, or beware 

your bones ! 
Sirs, I 'm a warder, and no man of 

straw ; 
My voice keeps order, and my club 

gives law. 

Yet soft, — nay, stay, — what vision 

have we here ? 
What dainty darling 's this, — what 

peerless peer? 
What loveliest face, that loving ranks 

infold, 
Like brightest diamond chased in purest 

gold ? 
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake. 
My club, my key, my knee, my homage 

take. 
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and 

bliss ; — 
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at 

such a sight as this ! 



TRANSLATION FROM THE ORLANDO 
INNAMORATO OF BOIARDO. 

Lib. IL C. 4, St. 25. 

As then, perchance, unguarded was the 
tower, 
So entered free Anglante's dauntless 
knight. 
No monster and no giant guard the 
bower 
In whose recess reclined the fairy 
light. 



Robed in a loose cymar of lily white, 
And on her lap a sword of breadth 
and might. 
In whose broad blade, as in a mirror 
bright. 
Like maid that trims her for a festal 
night. 
The fairy decked her hair, and placed 
her coronet aright. 



FROM THE PIRATE. 



THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. 

Stern eagle of the far northwest, 
Thou that bearest in thy grasp the 

thunderbolt. 
Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean 

to madness. 
Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the 

scatterer of navies. 
Thou the breaker down of towers ; 
Amidst the scream of thy rage, 
Amidst the rushing of thy onward 

wings. 
Though thy scream be loud as the cry 

of a perishing nation. 
Though the rushing of thy wings be 

like the roar of ten thousand 

waves. 
Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste, 
Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. 

Thou hast met the pine-trees of Dron* 

theim. 
Their dark green heads lie prostrate 

beside their uprooted stems ; 
Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, 
The tall, the strong bark of the fearless 

rover. 
And she has struck to thee the topsail 
That she had not veiled to a royal 

armada ; 
Thou hast met the tower that bears its 

crest among the clouds, 
The battled massive tower of the Jaii 

of former days. 
And the cope-stone of the turret 
Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; 
But thou too shalt stoop, proud com- 

peller of clouds. 
When thou hearest the voice of th« 

Reiro-kennar. 



422 



SOiVGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



There are verses that can stop the stag 

in the forest, 
Ay, and when the dark-colored dog is 

opening on his track ; 
There are verses can make the wild 

hawk pause on his wing, 
Like the falcon that wears the hood and 

the jesses, 
And who knows the shrill whistle of 

the fowler. 
Thou who canst mock at the scream of 

the drowning mariner, 
And the crash of the ravaged forest. 
And the groan of the overwhelmed 

crowds, 
When the church hath fallen in the 

moment of prayer ; 
There are sounds which thou also must 

list, 
When they are chanted by the voice 

of the Reim-kennar. 

Enough of woe hast thou wrought on 

the ocean, 
The widows wring their hands on the 

beacli ; 
Enough of woe hast thou wrought on 

the land, 
The husbandman folds his arms in 

despair ; 
Cease thou the waving of thy pinions. 
Let the ocean repose in her dark 

strength ; 
Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, 
Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armory 

of Odin ; 
Be thou still at my bidding, viewless 

racer of the northwestern heav- 
en, — 
Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the 

Reim-kennar. 

Eagle of the far northwestern waters. 

Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim- 
kennar, 

Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her 
bidding. 

And folded them in peace by thy 
side. 

Mv blessing be on thy retiring path ; 

When thou stoopest from thy place on 
high, 

Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of 
the unknown ocean, 



Rest till destiny shall again awaken 

thee ; 
Eagle of the northwest, thou hast heard 

the voice of the Reim-kennar. 



II. 

HALCRO'S SONG. 
MARY. 

Farewell to Northmaven, 

Gray Hillswicke, farewell ! 
To the calms of thy haven, 

The storms on thy fell ; 
To each breeze that can vary 

The mood of thy main. 
And to thee, bonnj' Mary ! 

We meet not again. 

Farewell the wild ferry. 

Which Hacon could brave, 
When the peaks of the Skerry 

Were white in the wave. 
There 's a maid may look over 

These wild waves in vain. 
For the skiff of her lover, — 

He comes not again. 

The vows thou hast broke, 

On the wild currents fling them ; 
On the quicksand and rock 

Let the mermaiden sing them. 
New sweetness they '11 give her 

Bewildering strain ; 
But there 's one who will never 

Believe them again. 

O were there an island. 

Though ever so wild, 
Where woman could smile, and 

No man be beguiled, — 
Too tempting a snare 

To poor mortals were given, 
And the hope would fix there 

That should anchor on heaven. 



THE SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER. 

The sun is rising dimly red. 

The wind is wailing low and dread ; 

From his cliff the eagle sallies. 

Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; 

In the mist the ravens hover. 

Peep the wild dogs from the cover. 



FROM THE PIRATE. 



423 



Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, 
Each in his wild accents telling, 
" Soon we feast on dead and dying, 
Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying." 

Many a crest in air is streaming, 
Many a helmet darkly gleaming. 
Many an arm the axe uprears. 
Doomed to hew the wood of spears. 
All along the crowded ranks. 
Horses neigh and armor clanks ; 
Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, 
Louder still the bard is singing, 
" Gather, footmen ; gather, horsemen ; 
To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! 

" Halt ye not for food or slumber, 
View not vantage, count not number; 
Jolly reapers, forward still, 
Grow the crop on vale or hill. 
Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe, 
1 1 shall down before the scythe. 
Forward with your sickles bright, 
Reap the harvest of the fight. — 
Onward, footmen ; onward, horsemen ; 
To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen ! 
" Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, 
O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; 
Hearthe choice she spreads before ye, — 
Victory, and wealth, and glory ; 
Or old Valhalla's roaring hail. 
Her ever circling mead and ale. 
Where for eternity unite 
The joys of wassail and of fight. 
Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, 
Charge and fight, and die like Norse- 
men ! " 



SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND MER- 
MEN. 



Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 

Stringing beads of glistering pearl, 
Singing the achievements brave 

Of many an old Norwegian earl ; 
Dwelling where the tempest's raving 

Falls as light upon our ear 
As the sigh of lover, craving 

Pity from his lady dear : 
Children of wild Thule, we. 
From the deep caves of the sea, 
As the lark springs from the lea, 
Hither come to share your glee. 



From reining of the water-horse, 

That bounded till the waves were 
foaming, 
Watching the infant tempest's course, 

Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming; 
From windingcharge-notes on the shell, 

When the huge whale and swordfish 
duel, 
Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell, 

When the winds and waves are cruel ; 
Children of wild Thule, we 
Have ploughed such furrows on the sea, 
As the steer draws on the lea, 
And hither we come to share your glee. 

MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. 

We heard you in our twilight caves, 

A hundred fathom deep below. 
For notes of joycan pierce the waves, 

That drown each sound ofwarandwoe. 
Those who dwell beneath the sea 

Love the sons of Thule well ; 
Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we 

Dance, and song, and sounding sheU. 
Children of dark Thule, know, 
Those who dwell by haaf and voe, 
Where your daring shallops row, 
Come to share the festal show. 



NORNA S VERSES. 

For leagues along the watery way. 
Through gulf and stream my course 
has been ; 
The billows know my Runic lay, 
And smooth their crests to silent 
green. 

The billows know my Runic lay ; 

The gulf grows smooth, the stream is 
still ; 
But human hearts, more wild than they, 

Know but the rule of wayward will. 

One hour is mine, in all the year, 
To tell my woes, — and one alone ; 

When gleams this magic lamp, 't is 
here, — 
When dies the mystic light, 't is gone. 

Daughters of northern Magnus, hail ! 
The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — 



424 



SOJVGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



To you I come to tell my tale, 
Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! 



Dwellers of the mountain, rise, 
Trolld the powerful, Haims the wise ! 
Ye who taught weak woman's tongue 
Words that sway the wise and strong, — 
Ye who taught weak woman's hand 
How to wield the magic wand. 
And wake the gales on Foulah's steep. 
Or lull wild Siimburgh's waves to sleep ! 
Still are ye yet ? — Not yours the power 
Ye knew in Odin's mightier hour. 
What are ye now but empty names. 
Powerful Trolld, sagacious Haims, 
That, lightly spoken, and lightly heard, 
Float on the air like thistle's beard ? 



A THOUSAND winters dark have flown. 
Since o'er the threshold of my stone 
A votaress passed, my power to own. 
Visiter bold 
Of the mansion of Trolld, 

Maiden haughty of heart. 
Who hast hither presumed, — 
Ungifted, undoomed 

Thou shalt not depart. 
The power thou dost covet 

O'er tempest and wave 
Shall be thine, thou proud maiden, 

By beach and by cave. 
By stack, and by skerry, by noup, and 

by voe. 
By air, and by wick, and by helyer, and 

gio. 
And by every wild shore which the 
northern winds know, 

And the northern tides lave. 
But though this shall be given thee, 

thou desperately brave, 
I doom thee that never the gift thou 
shalt have, 

Till thou reave thy life's giver 

Of the gift which he gave. 



Dark are thy words, and severe, 
Thou dweller in the stone ; 

But trembling and fear 
To her are unknown, 

Who hath sought thee here, 
In thy dwelling lone. 



Come what comes soever, 
The worst I can endure ; 

Life is but a short fever, 
And Death is the cure. 



HALCRO AND NORNA. 
CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother darksome. Mother dread, 

Dweller on the Fitful-head, 

Thou canst see what deeds are done 

Under the never-setting sun. 

Look through sleet, and look through 

frost. 
Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — 
By the iceberg is a sail 
Chasing of the swarthy whale ; 
Mother doubtful. Mother dread. 
Tell us, has the good ship sped .'' 

NORNA. 

The thought of the aged is ever on 

On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and 
his steer ; 

But thrive may his fishing, flock, fur- 
row, and herd. 

While the aged for anguish shall tear 
his gray beard. 

The ship, well laden as bark need be. 

Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland 
sea ; — 

The breeze from Zetland blows fair and 
soft. 

And gayly the garland is fluttering aloft ; 

Seven good fishes have spouted their 
last. 

And their jawbones are hanging to yard 
and mast ; 

Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirk- 
wall, 

And three for Burgh- Westra, the choi- 
cest of all. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother doubtful, Mother dread. 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
Thou hast conned full many a rhyme, 
That lives upon the surge of time : 
Tell me, shall my lays be sung, 
Like Hacon's of the golden tongue, 
Long after Halcro 's dead and gone ? 



FROM THE PIRATE. 



425 



Or, shall HIaltland's minstrel own 
One note to rival glorious John ? 



The infant loves the rattle's noise ; 
Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; 
But different far the descant rings. 
As strikes a different hand the strings. 
The eagle mounts the polar sky, — 
The Imber-goose, unskilled to fly, 
Must be content to glide along, 
Where seal and sea-dog list his song. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Be mine the Imber-goose to play. 
And haunt lone cave and silent bay ; 
The archer's aim so shall I shun ; 
So shall 1 'scape the levell'd gun, — 
Content my verses' tuneless jingle, 
With Thule's sounding tides to mingle ; 
While, to the ear of wondering wight, 
Upon the distant headland's height, 
Soften'd by murmur of the sea, 
The rude sounds seem like harmony ! 

***** 
Mother doubtful, Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 
A gallant bark from far abroad. 
Saint Magnus hath her in his road. 
With guns and firelocks not a few, — 
A silken and a scarlet crew, 
Deep stored with precious merchandise, 
Of gold, and goods of rare device : 
What interest hath our comrade bold 
In bark and crew, in goods and gold? 



Gold is ruddy, fair, and free, 
Blood is crimson, and dark to see ; 
I look'd out on Saint Magnus bay, 
And I saw a falcon that struck her 

prey, — 
A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore. 
And talons and singles are dripping 

with gore ; 
Let him that asks after them look on 

his hand, 
And if there is blood on 't, he 's one of 

their band. 

CLAUD HALCRO. 

Mother doubtful. Mother dread, 
Dweller of the Fitful-head, 



Well thou know'st it is thy task 
To tell what Beauty will not ask ; — 
Then steep thy words in wine and milk, 
And weave a doom of gold and silk, — ■ 
For we would know, shall Brenda prove 
In love, and happy in her love ? 



Untouched by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest, 
High seated in the middle sky. 
In bright and barren purity ; 
But by the sunbeam gently kissed. 
Scarce by the gazing eye 't is missed. 
Ere, down the lonely valley stealing. 
Fresh grass and growth its course re- 
vealing. 
It cheers the flock, revives the flower, 
And decks some happy shepherd's 
bower. 

MAGNUS TROIL. 

Mother, speak, and do not tarry. 
Here 's a maiden fain would marry. 
Shall she marry, ay or not ? 
If she marry, what 's her lot 

NORNA. 

Untouched by love, the maiden's breast 
Is like the snow on Rona's crest : 
So pure, so free from earthly dye. 
It seems, whilst leaning on the sky, 
Part of the heaven to which 't is nigh ; 
But passion, like the wild March rain, 
May soil the wreath with many a stain. 
We gaze, — the lovely vision 's gone, — 
A torrent fills the bed of stone. 
That, hurrying to destruction's shock, 
Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. 

VII. 
THE fishermen's SONG. 

Farewell, merry maidens, to song and 

to laugh. 
For the brave lads of Westra are bound 

to the Haaf ; 
And we must have labor, and hunger, 

and pain. 
Ere we dance with the maids of Dun- 

rossness again. 
For now, in our trim boats of Noroway 

deal, 
We must dance on the waves, with tka 

porpoise and seal ; 



426 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not 
too high, 

And the gull be our songstress when- 
e'er she flits by. 

Sing on, my brave bird, while we fol- 
low, like thee, 

By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the 
swarms of the sea ; 

And when twenty-score fishes are 
straining our line. 

Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils 
shall be thine. 

We '11 ^ing while we bait, and we '11 

sing when we haul, 
For the deeps of the Haaf have enough 

for us all ; 
There is torsk for the gentle, and skate 

for the carle, 
And there 's wealth for bold Magnus, 

the son of the earl. 

Huzza ! my brave comrades, give way 
for the Haaf, 

We shall sooner come back to the dance 
and the laugh ; 

For life without mirth is a lamp with- 
out oil : 

Then, mirth and long life to the bold 
Magnus Troil ! 

VIII. 

Cleveland's songs. 

Love wakes and weeps 

While Beauty sleeps ; 
O for Music's softest numbers, 

To prompt a theme 

For Beauty's dream. 
Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! 

Through groves of palm 

Sigh gales of balm, 
Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; 

While through the gloom 

Comes soft perfume, 
The distant beds of flowers revealing. 

O wake and live ! 

No dream can give 
A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; 

No longer sleep. 

From lattice peep. 
And list the tale that Love is telling. 



Farewell ! farewell ! the voice you 
hear 

Has left its last soft tone with you, — 
Its next must join the seaward cheer. 

And shout among the shouting crew. 

The accents which I scarce could form 
Beneath your frown's controlling 
check 

Must give the word, above the storm, 
To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. 

The timid eye I dared not raise, 

The hand, that shook when pressed 
to thine, 
Must point the guns upon the chase, 

Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. 
To all I love, or hope, or fear, 

Honor, or own, a long adieu ! 
To all that life has soft and dear, 

Farewell, — save memory of you ! 

IX. 
HALCRO'S VERSES. 

And you shall deal the funeral dole ; 

Ay, deal it, mother mine. 
To weary body, and to heavy soul, 

The white bread and the wine. 

And you shall deal my horses of pride; 

Ay, deal them, mother mine ; 
And you shall deal my lands so wide, 

And deal my castles nine ; 

But deal not vengeance for the deed, 
And deal not for the crime ; 

The body to its place, and the soul to 
Heaven's grace, 
And the rest in God's own time. 



Saint Magnus control thee, that mar- 
tyr of treason ; 

Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme 
and with reason ; 

By the mass of Saint Martin, the might 
of Saint Mary, 

Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be 
worse if thou tarry ! 

If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; 

If of ill, let the earth swallow thee, — 

If thou 'rt of air, let the gray mist fold 
thee, — 

If of earth, let the swart mine hold 
thee ; — 

If a Pixie, seek thy ring: 

If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; — 



FROM THE PIRA TE. 



427 



It on m-'ddle earth thou'st been 
Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, 
Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, 
And dree'd the lot which men call life ; 
Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is 

scant of thee, 
The worm, thy playfellow, wails for the 

want of thee : — 
Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth 

hide thee. 
Till Michael shall blow the blast, see 

that there thou bide thee ! — 
Phantom, fly hence I take the Cross for 

a token. 
Hence pass till Hallowniass ! — my spell 

is spoken. 

Where corpse-light 

Dances bright. 

Be it by day or night, 

Be it by light or dark, 

There shall corpse lie stiff and stark. 

Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, 
Till the first beam tinge the skies ; 
Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, 
Till the sun has kissed the rose ; 
Maiden's foot we should not view, 
Marked with tiny print on dew, 
Till the opening flowerets spread 
Carpet meet for beauty's tread. 

X. 

norna's incantations. 

Champion, famed for warlike toil, 
Art thou silent, Ribolt Troll ? 
Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, 
Are leaving bare thy giant bones. 
Who dared touch the wild bear's skin 
Ye slumbered on, while life was in ? — 
A woman now, or babe, may come 
And cast the covering from thy tomb. 

Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight 

Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight ! 

I come not with unhallowed tread. 

To wake the slumbers of the dead, 

Or lay thy giant relics bare ; 

But what I seek thou well canst spare. 

Be it to my hand allowed 

To shear a merk's weight from thy 

shroud : 
Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough 
To shield thy bones from weather rough. 



See. I draw my magic knife, — 

Never, while thou wert in life, 
Laidst thou still for sloth or fear, 
When point and edge were glittering 

near : 
See, the cerements now I sever, — 
Waken now, or sleep forever ! 
Thou wilt not wake, — the deed is 

done ! — 
The prize I sought is fairly won. 

T'uanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this the 

sea 
Sliall smooth its ruffled crest for thee ; 
And while afar its billows foam. 
Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. 
Thanks, Ribolt, thanks, — for this the 

might 
Of wild winds raging at their height, 
When to thy place of slumber nigh, 
Shall soften to a lullaby. 

She, the dame of doubt and dread, 
Noma of the Fitful-head, 
Mighty in her own despite, — 
Miserable in her might ; 
In despair and frenzy great, 
In her greatness desolate ; 
Wisest, wickedest who lives, 
Well can keep the word she gives. 



Thou, so needful, yet so dread. 
With cloudy crest, and wing of red ; 
Thou, without whose genial breath 
The North would sleep the sleep of 

death ; 
Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth, 
Yet hurls proud palaces to earth, — 
Brightest, keenest of the Powers 
Which form and rule this world of ours, 
With my rhyme of Runic, I 
Thank thee for thy agency. 



Old Reim-kennar, to thy art 
Mother Hertha sends her part ; 
She, whose gracious bounty gives 
Needful food for all that lives. 
From the deep mine of the North, 
Came the mystic metal forth, 
Doomed amidst disjointed stones 
Long to cere a champion's bones, 
Disinhumed my charms to aid. — 
Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. 



423 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Girdle of cmr islands dear. 
Element of Water, hear ! 
Thou whose power can overwhelm 
Broken mounds and ruined realm 

On the lowly Belgian strand ; 
All thy fiercest rage can never 
Of our soil a furlong sever 

From our rock-defended land ; 
Play then gently thou thy part, 
To assise ■old Norna's art. 



Elements, each other greeting, 
Gifts and powers attend your meeting ! 



Thou, that over billows dark 
Safely send'st the fisher's bark, — 
Giving him a path and motion 
Through the wilderness of ocean ; 
Thou, that when the billows brave ye, 
O'er the shelves.canst drive the navy, — 
Didst thou chafe as one neglected. 
While thy brethren were respected ? 
To appease thee, see, I tear 
This full grasp of grizzled hair ; 
Oft thy breath .hath through it sung, 
Softening to my magic tongue, — 
Now, 't is thine to bid it fly 
Through the wild expanse of sky, 
'Mid the countless swarms to sail 
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ; 
Take thy portion and rejoice, — 
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ! 



She who sits by haunted well 

Is subject to the Nixie's spell ; 

She who walks on lonely beach 

To the Mermaid's charmed speech : 

She who walks round ring of green 

Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; 

And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's 

cave 
A weary weird of woe shall have. 

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, 
Minna Troil has braved all this and 

more : 
And yet hath the root of her sorrow 

and ill 
A source that 's more deep and more 

mystical still. — 
Thou art within a demon's hold, 
More wise than Heims, more strong 

than l.'rolld ; 



No siren sings so sweet as he ; 
No fay springs lighter on the lea ; 
No elfin power hath half the art 
To soothe, to move, to wring the heart, '— 
Life-blood from the cheek to drain. 
Drench the eye, and dry the vein. 
Maiden, ere we farther go. 
Dost thou note me, ay or no ? 



I mark thee, my mother, both word, 

look, and sign ; 
Speak on with thy riddle, — to read it 

be mine. 

NORNA. 

Mark me ! for the word I speak 
Shall bring the color to thy cheek. 
This leaden heart, so light of cost, 
The symbol of a treasure lost, 
Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, 
That the cause of your sickness and 

sorrow may cease. 
When crimson foot meets crimson hand 
In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney 

land. 
Be patient, be patient, for Patience 

hath power 
To ward us in danger, like mantle in 

shower ; 
A fairy gift you best .may hold 
In a chain of fairy gold ; 
The chain and the gift are each a true 

token. 
That not without warrant old Noma 

hath spoken ; 
But thy nearest and dearest must never 

behold them, 
Till time shall accomplish the truths I 

have told them. 



BRVCE SNAILSFOOT S ADVERTISEMENT, 

Poor sinners whom the snake decel\cs 
Are fain to cover them with leaves. 
Zetland hath no leaves, 't is true, 
Because that trees are none, or few ; 
But we have flax and taits of woo'. 
For linen cloth, and wadmaal blue ; 
And we have many of foreign knacks* 
Of finer waft than woo' or flax. 
Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear. 
And bring your Lambmas sisters here ; 
Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care, 
To pleasure every gentle pair. 



FROM REDGAUNTLET. 



435 



FROM THE FORTUNES OF 
NIGEL. 

kigel's initiation at whitkfriars. 

Your suppliant, by name 
Nigel Grahame, 
In fear of mishap 
From a shoulder-tap ; 
And dreading a claw 
From the talons of law. 

That are sharper than briers ; 
His freedom to sue, 
And rescue by you, — 
Through weapon and wit, 
From warrant and writ. 
From bailiff's hand, 
From tipstaff's wand, 

Is come hither to Whitefriars. 



By spigot and barrel, 

By bilboe and buff ; 
Thou art sworn to the quarrel 

Ofthe blades of the Huff. 
For Whitefriars and its claims 

To be champion or martyr, 
And to fight for its dames 

Like a Knight ofthe Garter. 



From the touch of the tip. 
From the blight of the warrant, 
From the watchmen who skip 

On the Harman Beck's errand. 
From the bailiff's cramp speech, 

That makes man a thrall, 
I charm thee from each. 

And I charm thee from all. 
Thy freedom 's complete 

As a blade ofthe Huff, 
To be cheated and cheat. 

To be cuffed and to cuff; 
To stride, swear, and swagger, 
To drink till you stagger, 

To stare and to stab, 
And to brandish your dagger 

In the cause of your drab ; 
To walk wool-ward in winter. 

Drink brandy, and smoke, 
And %o fresco in summer 

For want of a cloak ; 
To eke out your living 

By the wag of your elbow, 
By fulham and ^urd, 

And by baring of bilboe ; 



To live by yoar shifts. 

And to swear by your horror. 

Are the freedom and gifts 
Of which I am the donor. 

FROM QUENTIN DURWARD. 



song — COUNTY GXTY. 

Ah ! County Guy, the Ixjur is nigh, 

The sun has left the lea. 
The orange flower perfumes the bower. 

The breeze is on the sea. 
The lark, his lay who thrilled all day. 

Sits hushed his partner nigh ; 
Breeze, bird, and flower confess ths 
boar. 

But where is County Guy ? 

The village maid steals throiigh the 
shade. 

Her shepherd's suit to hear ; 
To beauty shy, by lattice high. 

Sings high-bom Cavalier. 
The star of Love, all stars above,. 

Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; 
And high and low the influence know,— 

But where is County Guy t 



Some better bard shall sing in feudal 

state 
How Bracquemont's Castle oped its 

Gothic gate. 
When on the wandering Scot its lovely 

heir 
Bestowed her beauty and an earldom 

fair. 

FROM REDGAUNTLET. 

A CATCH OF Cowley's altered. 

For all our men were very very merry. 

And all our men were drinking : 
Tliere were two men of mine, 
Tliree men of thine, 
And three that belonged to old Sir 

Thorn o' Lyne : 
As they went to the ferry, they were 
very very merry. 
And all our men were drinking. 

Jack looked at the sun, and cried, Fire, 

fire, fire ; 
Tom stabled his keffel in Birkendale 

mire ; 



430 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



Jem started a calf, and hallooed for a 

stag ; 
Will mounted a gate-post instead of his 

nag : 
For all our men were very very merry, 

And all our men were drinking ; 
There were two men of mine, 
Three men of thine, 
And three that belonged to old Sir 

Thorn o' Lyne : 
As they went to the ferry, they were 

very very merry, 
For all our men were drinking. 



As lords their laborers' hire delay. 
Fate quits our toil with hopes to come. 

Which, if far short of present pay, 
Still owns a debt and names a sum. 

Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, 
Although a distant date be given ; 

Despiir is treason towards man, 
And blasphemy to Heaven. 



FROM THE BETROTHED. 
I. 

SONG — SOLDIER WAKE. 

Soldier, wake, — the day is peeping. 
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping, 
Never when the sunbeams still 
Lay unreflected on the hill : 
'T is when they are glinted back 
From axe and armor, spear and jack. 
That they promise future story 
Many a page of deathless glory. 
Shields that are the foeman's terror, 
Ever are the morning's mirror. 

Arm and up, — the morning beam 
Hath called the rustic to his team. 
Hath called the falc'ner to the lake. 
Hath called the huntsman to the brake ; 
The early student ponders o'er 
His dusty tomes of ancient lore. 
Soldier, wake, — thy harvest, fame ; 
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. 
Shield, that would be foeman's terror, 
Still should gleam the morning's mirror. 

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; 
More paltry still the sportsman's gain : 



Vainest of all, the student's themes 
Ends in some metaphy.-,ic dream : 
Yet each is up, and each has toiled. 
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled : 
And each is eagerer in his aim 
Than he who barters life for fane. 
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! 
Be thy bright shield the morning's Jni*- 
ror. 



SONG — WOMAN S FAITH. 

Woman's faith, and woman's trust — 
Write the characters in dust ; 
Stamp them on the ruiuiing stream, 
Print them on the moon's pale beam, 
And each evanescent leiier, 
.Shall be clearer, firmer, better, 
And more permanent, I ween. 
Than the things those letters mean. 

I have strained the spider's thread 
'Gainst the promise of a maid : 
I have weighed a grain of sand 
'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; 
I told my true-love of the token, 
How her faith proved light, and he* 

word was broken : 
Again her word and truth she plight. 
And I believed them again ere night. 



SONG — I ASKED OF MV HARP. 

I ASKED of my harp, " Who hath in, 

jured thy chords " 
And she replied, " The crooked finger, 

which I mocked in my tune." 
A blade of silver may be bended — a 

blade of steel abideth — 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance 

endureth. 

The sweet taste of mead passeth from 
the lips, 

But they are long corroded by the juice 
of wormwood ; 

The lamb is brought to the shambles, 
but the wolif rangeth the moun- 
tain ; 

Kindness fadeth away, but vengeanco 
endureth. 

I asked the red-hot Iron, when it glim- 
mered on the anvil, 



FROM THE TALISMAN. 



431 



" Wherefore glowest thou longer than 
the firebrand ? " — 

" I was born in the dark mine, and tlie 
brand in the pleasant green- 
wood.'' 

Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance 
endureth. 

I asked the green oak of the assembly, 
wherefore its boughs were dry and 
seared like the horns of the stag ? 

And it showed nie that a small worm 
had gnawed its roots. 

The boy who remembered the scourge 
undid the wicket of the castle at 
midnight. 

Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance 
endureth. 

Lightning destroyeth temples, though 

their spires pierce the clouds ; 
Storms destroy armadas, though their 

sails intercept the gale. 
He that is in his glory falleth, and that 

by a contemptible enemy. 
Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance 

endureth. 



Widowed wife and wedded maid, 
Betrothed, betrayer, and betrayed, 
All is done that has been said ; 
Vanda's wrong hath been y-wroken, — 
Take her pardon by this token. 

FROM THE TALISMAN. 



Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still 
Holds origin of woe and ill ! 

When, bending at thy shrine. 
We view the world with troubled eye, 
Where see we, 'neath the extended sky, 

An empire matching thine ! 

If the Benigner Power can yield 
A fountain in the desert field. 

Where weary pilgrims drink ; 
Thine are the waves that lash the rock, 
Thine the tornado's deadly shock, 

Where countless navies sink ! 

Or if He bids the soil dispense 
Ealsams to cheer the sinking sense, 



How few can they deliver 
From lingering pains, or pang intense, 
Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, 

I'he arrows of thy quiver ! 

Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway. 
And frequent, while in words we pray 

Before another throne, 
Whate'er of specious form be there, 
The secret meaning of the prayer 

Is, Ahriman, thine own. 

Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, 
Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, 

As Eastern Magi say ; 
With sentient soul of hate and wrath. 
And wings to sweep thy deadly path. 

And fangs to tear thy prey ? 

Or art thou mixed in Nature's source, 
An ever-operating force, 

Converting good to ill ; 
An evil principle innate, 
Contending with our better fate, 

And O, victorious still? 

Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. 

On all without thou hold'st thy reign. 

Nor less on all within ; 
Each mortal passion's fierce career. 
Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear. 

Thou goadest into sin. 

Whene'er a sunny gleam appears. 
To brighten up our vale of tears, 

Thou art not distant far ; 
'Mid such brief solace of our lives, 
Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives 

To tools of death and war. 
Thus, from the moment of our birth, 
Long as we linger on the earth. 

Thou rul'st the fate of men ; 
Thine are the pangs of life's last hour. 
And — who dare answer? — is thy 
power, 

Dark Spirit ! ended Then? 



What brave chief shall head the forces. 
Where the red-cross legions gather ? 

Best of horsemen, best of horses. 
Highest head and fairest feather. 

Ask not Austria why, midst princes. 
Still her banner rises highest ; 

Ask as well the strong-winged eagle 
Why to heaven he soars the nighest. 



432 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



THE BLOODY VEST. 

'T WAS near the fair city of Benevent, 
When the sun was setting on bough 

and bent, 
And knights were preparing in bower 

and tent, 
On the eve of the Baptist's tournament ; 
When in Lincoln green a stripling 

gent, 
Well seeming a page by a princess 

sent, 
Wandered the camp, and still as he 

went. 
Inquired for the Englishman, Thomas 

i Kent. 

Far hath he fared, and farther must fare, 

Till he finds his pavilion nor stately 
nor rare, — 

Little save iron and steel was there : 

And, as lacking the coin to pay ar- 
morer's care. 

With his sinewy arms to the shoulders 
bare, 

The good knight with hammer and file 
did repair 

The mail that to-morrow must see him 
wear, 

For the honor of Saint John and his 
lady fair. 

"Thusspeaksmylady," the page said he. 
And the knight bent lowly both head 

and knee, 
" She is Benevent's Princess so high 

in degree, 
And thou art as lowly as knight may 

well be — 
He that would climb so lofty a tree, 
Or spring such a gulf as divides her 

from thee, 
Must dare some high deed, by which 

all men may see 
His ambition is backed by his hie 

chivalrie. 

" Therefore thus speaks my lady," the 
fair page he said, 

And the knight lowly louted with hand 
and with head, 

" Fling aside the good armor in whicV\ 
thou art clad. 

And don thou this weed of her night- 
gear instead. 



For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of 
thread : 

And charge, thus attired, in the tourna- 
ment dread. 

And fight, as thy wont is, where mosl; 
blood is shed. 

And bring honor away, or remain with 
the dead." 

Untroubled in his look, and untroubled 

in his breast. 
The knight the weed hath taken, and 

reverently hath kissed : 
" Now blessed be the moment, the 

messenger be blest ! 
Much honored do I hold me in my 

lady's high behest ; 
And say unto my lady, in this dear 

night-weed dressed, 
To the best armed champion I will not 

veil my crest ; 
But if I live and bear me well, 't is her 

turn to take the test." 
Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte 

of the Lay of the Bloody Vest. 

FYTTE SECOND. 

The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gal- 
lant feats : 
There was winning of honor, and losing 

of seats ; 
There was hewing with falchions, and 

splintering of staves ; 
The victors won glory, the vanquished 

won graves. 
O, many a knight there fought bravely 

and well. 
Yet one was accounted his peers to excel ; 
And 't was he whose sole armor on 

body and breast 
Seemed the weed of a damsel when 

boune for her rest. 

There were some dealt him wounds 
that were bloody and sore ; 

But others respected his plight, and 
forbore. 

" It is some oath of honor," they said, 
" and I trow, 

'T were unknightly to slay him achiev- 
ing his vow " 

Then the Prince, for his sake, bade 
the tournament cease, 

He flung down his warder, the trumpets 
sung peace ; 



FROM WOODSTOCK. 



433 



And the judges declare, and competi- 
tors yield, 

That the Knight of the Night-gear was 
first in the field. 

The feast it was nigh, and the mass it 
was nigher, 

When before the fair Princess low 
louted a squire. 

And delivered a garment unseemly to 
view. 

With sword-cut and spear-thrust all 
hacked and pierced through ; 

All rent and all tattered, all clotted with 
blood, 

With foam of the horses, with dust, and 
with mud. 

Not the point of that lady's small fin- 
ger, I ween. 

Could have rested on spot was unsul- 
lied and clean. 

" This token my master, Sir Thomas i 
Kent, 

Restores to the Princess of fair Bene- 
vent ; 

He that climbs the tall tree has won 
right to the fruit. 

He that leaps the wide gulf should pre- 
vail in his suit ; 

Through life's utmost peril the prize I 
have won, 

And now must the faith of my mistress 
be shown ; 

For she who prompts knights on such 
danger to run 

Must avouch his true service in front of 
the sun, 

" ' I restore,' " says my master, " ' the 

garment I 've worn. 
And I claim of the Princess to don it 

in turn ; 
For its stains and its rents she should 

prize it the more, 
Since by shame 't is unsullied, though 

crimsoned with gore.' " 
Then deep blushed the Princess, — yet 

kissed she and pressed 
The blood-spotted robes to her lips and 

her breast. 
" Go tell my true knight, church and 

chamber shall show 
If I value the blood on this garment or 

no." 
And when it was time for the nobles to 

pass, 



In solemn procession to minster and 

mass. 
The first walked the Princess in purple 

and pall. 
But the blood-besmeared night-robe 

she wore over all : 
And eke, in the hall, where they all sat 

at dine, 
When she knelt to her father and prof- 
fered the wine, 
Over all her rich robes and state jewels 

she wore 
That wimple unseemly bedabbled with 

gore. 

Then lords whispered ladies, as well 

you may think. 
And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and 

wink ; 
And the Prince, who in anger and 

shame had looked down, 
Turned at length to his daughter, and 

spoke with a frown : 
" Now since thou hast published thy 

folly and guilt. 
E'en atone with thy hand for the blood 

thou hast spilt ; 
Yet sore for your boldness you both 

will repent, 
When you wander as exiles from fair 

Benevent." 

Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall 
where he stood. 

Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of 
mood ; 

" The blood that I lost for this daugh- 
ter of thine, 

I poured forth as freely as flask gives 
its wine : 

And if for my sake she brooks penance 
and blame, 

Do not doubt I will save her from suf- 
fering and shame ; 

And light will .she reck of thy prince- 
dom and rent, 

When I hail her, in England, the 
Countess of Kent." 

FROM WOODSTOCK. 
I. 

By pathless march, by greenwood tree, 
It is thy weird to follow me, — 
To follow me througn the ghastly moon- 
light, — 



434 



SONGS FROM THE NOVELS. 



To follow me through the shadows of 

night, — 
To follow me, comrade, still art thou 

bound : 
I conjure thee by the unstanched 

wound, — 
I conjure thee by the last words I spoke. 
When the body slept and the spirit 

awoke, 
.In the very last pangs of the deadly 

stroke ! 



GLEE FOR KING CHARLES. 

Bring the bowl which you boast. 

Fill it up to the brim ; 
'Tis to him we love most, 

And to all who love him. 
Brave gallants, stand up. 

And avaunt ye, base carles ! 
Were there death in the cup, 

Here 's a health to King Charles ! 

Though he wanders through dangers, 

Unaided, unknown. 
Dependent on strangers, 

Estranged from his own ; 
Though 't is under our breath 

Amidst forfeits and perils, 
Here 's to honor and faith, 

And a health to King Charles ! 

Let such honors abound. 

As the time can afford, 
The knee on the ground. 

And the band on the sword ; 
But the time shall come round 

When, 'mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls, 
The loud trumpet sliall sound. 

Here 's a health to King Charles ! 



AN HOUR WITH THEE. 

An hour with thee ! — When earliest day 
Dapples with gold the eastern gray, 
O, what can frame my mind to bear 
The toil and turmoil, cark and care. 
New griefs, which coming hours imlold. 
And sad remembrance of the old ? — 
One hour with thee ! 

One hour with thee ! — When burning 

June 
Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; 
What shall repay the faithful swaiii 
His labor on the sultry plain : 



And m ore than cave or sheltering bough, 
Cool feverish blood, and throbbing 
brow ? — 

One hour with thee ! 

One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, 
O, what can teach me to forget 
The thankless labors of the day ; 
The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; 
The increasing wants, and lessening 

gains. 
The master's pride, who scorns my 

pains ? — 

One hour with thee ! 



TRANSLATION FROM HORACE'S ART 
OF I>OETRY. 

Heroes and kings in exile forced to 
roam 

Leave swelling phrase and seven- 
leagued words at home. 

V. 

Son of a witch, 

Mayst thou die in a ditch. 

With the butchers who back thy 
quarrels ; 
And rot above ground. 
While the world shall resound 

A welcome to Royal King Charles. 

FROM THE FAIR MAID OF 
PERTH. 



THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE. 

Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day 
She roams from cot to castle gay ; 
And still her voice and viol say, 
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, 
Think on Louise. 
Ah, poor Louise ! The sun was high. 
It smirched her cheek, it dimmed her 

eye. 
The woodland walk was cool and nigh. 
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie 
To cheer Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear 
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair : 
The wolves molest not paths so fair,— 
But better far had such been there 

For poor Louise. 



FROM ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN. 



43S 



Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold 
She met a huntsman fair and bold; 
His baldric was of silk and gold, 
And many a witching tale he told 

To poor Louise. 

Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine 
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; 
For peace of mind, that gift divine, 
And spotless innocence, were thine, 
Ah, poor Louise ! 

Ah, poor Louise ! Thy treasure 's reft ! 
I know not if by force or theft. 
Or part by violence, part by gift ; 
But misery is all that 's left 

To poor Louise. 

Let poor Louise some succor have ! 
She will not long your bounty crave, 
Or tire the gay with warning stave, — 
For Heaven has grace, and earth a 
grave, 

For poor Louise. 



DEATH CHANT. 

Viewless Essence, thin and bare, 
Wellnigh melted into air ; 
Still with fondness hovering near 
The earthly form thou once didst wear ; 

Pause upon thy pinion's flight, 
Be thy course to left or right ; 
Be thou doomed to soar or sink, 
Pause upon the awful brink. 

To avenge the deed expelling 
Thee untimely from thy dwelling. 
Mystic force thou shalt retain 
O'er the blood and o'er the brain. 

When the form thou shalt espy 
That darkened on thy closing eye ; 
When the footstep thou shalt hear, 
That thrilled upon thy dying ear ; 

Then strange sympathies shall wake. 
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall 

quake ; 
The wounds renew their clottered flood. 
And every drop cry blood for blood. 



Yes, thou mayst sigh. 
And look once more at all around, 



At stream and bank, and sky and 

ground, 
Thy life its final course has found, 
And thou must die. 

Yes, lay thee down. 
And, while thy struggling pulses flutter, 
Bid the gray monk his soul-mass mutter, 
And the deep bell its death-tone utter, — 

Thy life is gone. 

Be not afraid, 
'T is but a pang, and then a thrill, 
A fever fit, and then a chill ; 
And then an end of human ill, — 

For thou art dead. 



Oh ! Bold and True 

In bonnet blue. 

That fear or falsehood never knew, 

Whose heart was loyal to his word. 

Whose hand was faithful to his sword. 

Seek Europe wide from sea to sea, 

But bonny Blue-Cap still for me ! 

I 've seen Almain's proud champions 

prance, — 
Have seen the gallant knights of 

France, 
Unrivalled with the sword and lance ; 
Have seen the sons of England true 
Wield the brown bill and bend the yew. 
Search France the fair, and England 

free. 
But bonny Blue-Cap still for me ! 

FROM ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN. 



If I hit mast, and line, and bird. 
An English archer keeps his word. 
Ah ! maiden, didst thou aim at me, 
A single glance were worth the three. 

II. 

THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 

Measurers of good and evil. 

Bring the square, the line, the level, — 

Rear the altar, dig the trench. 

Blood both stone and ditch shall drencli. 

Cubits six, from end to end. 

Must the fatal bench extend, — 

Cubits six, from side to side. 

Judge and culprit must divide. 



436 



SONGS FROM THE PLAYS. 



On the east the Court assembles, 
On the west the Accused trembles — 
Answer brethren, all and one, 
Is the ritual rightly done ? 



On life and soul, on blood and bone, 
One for all, and all for one, 
We warrant this is rightly done. 



How wears the night? Doth morn- 
ing shine 
In early radiance on the Rhine ? 
What music floats upon his tide ? 
Do birds the tardy morning chide ? 



Brethren, look out from hill and height, 
And answer true, how wears tlie nigiit? 



The night is old ; on Rhine's broad 

breast 
Glance drowsy stars which long to rest 

No beams are twinkling in the east. 
There is a voice upon the flood, 
The stern still call of blood for blood; 

'T is time we listen the behest. 

Up, then, up ! When day's at rest, 
'Tis time that such as we are watchers, 

Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! 

Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes. 
He and night are matchers. 



SONGS FROM THE PLAYS. 



From the Doom of Devorgoil. 
THE SUN UPON THE LAKE. 

The sun upon the lake is low. 

The wild birds hush their song, 
The hills have evening's deepest glow. 

Yet Leonard tarries long. 
Now all whom varied toil and care 

From home and love divide. 
In the calm sunset may repair 

Each to the loved one's side. 

The noble dame, on turret high. 

Who waits her gallant knight. 
Looks to the western beam to spy 

The flash of armor bright. 
The village maid, with hand on brow, 

The level ray to shade. 
Upon the footpath watches now 

For Colin's darkening plaid. 

Now to their mates the wild swans 
row, 

By day they swam apart. 
And to the thicket wanders slow 

The hind beside the hart. 
The woodlark at his partner's side. 

Twitters his closing song. — 
All meet whom day and care divide. 

But Leonard tarries long. 



WE LOVE THE SHRILL TRUM- 
PET. 

We love the shrill trumpet, we love 

the drum's rattle, 
They call us to sport, and they call us 

to battle ; 
And old Scotland shall laugh at the 

threats of a stranger. 
While our comrades in pastime are 

comrades in danger. 

If there 's mirth in our house, 't is our 

neighbor that shares it ; 
If peril approach, 't is our neighbor that 

dares it ; 
And when we lead off to the pipe and 

the tabor. 
The fair hand we press is the hand of a 

neighbor. 

Then close your ranks, comrades, the 

bands that combine them, 
Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, 

joined to intwine them ; 
And we '11 laugh at the threats of each 

insolent stranger. 
While our comrades in sport are our 

comrades in danger. 



BONNY DUNDEE. 



437 



ADMIRE NOT THAT I GAINED. 

Admire not that I gained the prize 

From all the village crew ; 
How could I fail with hand or eyes, 

When heart and faith were true ? 

And when in floods of rosy wine 
My comrades drowned their cares, 

I thought but that thy heart was mine, 
My own leaped light as theirs. 

My brief delay then do not blame, 
Nor deem your swain untrue ; 

My tbrm but lingered at the game, 
My soul was still with you. 

WHEN THE TEMPEST. 

When the tempest 's at the loudest, 
On its gale the eagle rides ; 

When the ocean rolls the proudest, 
Through the foam the sea-bird 
glides ; — 

All the rage of wind and sea 

Is subdued by constancy. 

Gnawing want and sickness pining, 
All the ills that men endure ; 



Each their various pangs combining, 

Constancy can find a cure ; — 
Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, 
Are subdued by constancy. 

Bar me from each wonted pleasure. 
Make me abject, mean, and poor ; 

Heap on insults without measure, 
Chain me to a dungeon tloor ; — 

111 be happy, rich, and free, 

If endowed with constancy. 

O, ROBIN HOOD WAS A BOW- 
MAN GOOD. 

O, Robin Hood was a bowman good. 
And a bowman good was he. 

And he met a maiden in merry Sher- 
wood, 
All under the greenwood tree. 

" Now give me a kiss," quoth bold Rob, 
in Hood, 
" Now give me a kiss," said he, 
" For there never came maid into 
merry Sherwood 
But she paid the forester's fee." 



BONNY DUNDEE. 

Air — " The Bonnets of Botuty Dundee." 
To the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke, 
" Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke : 
So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me 
Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 

" Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can. 
Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ; 
Come open the West Port, and let me gang free. 
And it 's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! " 
Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. 
The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat ; 
Birt the Provost, douce man, said, "Just e'en let him be. 
The Gude Town is weei quit of that Deil of Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, 
Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; 
But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee 
Thinkmg, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! * 

Come fill up my cup, &c. 

With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed 
As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged ; 
There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e. 
As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 



^:8 SONGS FROM THE PLAYS. 

These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, 
And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; 
But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, 
At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock. 
And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; 
" Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, 
For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee." 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

The Gordon demands of him which way he goes ; 
"Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! 
Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, 
Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

"There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, 
If there 's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North ; 
There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three. 
Will cry hoigh I for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

" There 's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide; 
There 's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside ; 
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free. 
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

" Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks ; — 
Ere I own an usurper, I '11 couch with the fox ; 
And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, 
You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me ! " 
Come fill up my cup, &c. 

He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown. 
The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on. 
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee. 
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. 

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, 
Come saddle the horses and call up the men, 
Come open your gates, and let me gae free, 
For it 's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee I 



WHEN FRIENDS ARE MET. 

When triends are met o'er merry cheer, 
And lovely eyes are laughing near, 
And in the goblet's bosom clear 

The cares of day are drowned ; 
When puns are made, and bumpers 

quaffed. 
And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft. 
And Mirth his jovial laugh has laughed. 

Then is our banquet crowned, 
Ah gay. 

Then is our banquet crowned. 



When glees are sung, and catches 

trolled. 
And bashfulness grows bright and 

bold, 
And beauty is no longer cold. 

And age no longer dull ; 
When chimes are brief, and cocks do 

crow. 
To tell us it is time to go. 
Yet how to part we do not know. 
Then is our feast at full, 

Ah gay. 
Then is our feast at fulL 



RHEIN-IVEIN LIED. 



439 



Froin Atcchindra}ie. 
HITHER WE COME. 

Hither we come, 
Once slaves to the drum, 
But no longer we list to its rattle ; 
Adieu to the wars. 
With their slashes and scars. 
The march, and the storm, and the 
battle. 
There are some of us maimed. 
And some that are lamed, 
And some of old aches are complain- 
ing; 
But we '11 take up the tools. 
Which we flung by like fools, 
'Gainst Don Spaniard to go a-campaign- 
ing. 
Dick Hathorn doth vow 
To return to the plough, 
Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer ; 
The weaver shall find room 
At the wight-wapping loom, 
And your clerk shall teach writing and 
grammar. 
Frotn the House of Aspen. 

JOY TO THE VICTORS. 
Joy to the victors ! the sons of old 
Aspen ! 
Joy to the race of the battle and 
scar ! 
Glory's proud garland triumphantly 
grasping, 
Generous in peace, and victorious in 
war ! 
Honor acquiring. 
Valor inspiring, 
Bursting, resistless, through foemen 
they go ; 
War-axes wielding, - 
Broken ranks yielding. 
Till from the battle proud Roderic 
retiring 
Yields in wild rout the fair palm to his 

foe. 
Joy to each warrior, true follower of 
Aspen ! 
Joy to the heroes that gained the bold 
day ! 
Health to our wounded, in agony gasp- 
ing; 
Peace to our brethren that fell in the 
fray ! 



Boldly this morning, 
Roderic's power scorning. 
Well for their chieftain their blades did 
they wield : 
Joy blest them dying, 
As Maltingen flying, 
Low laid his banners, our conquest 
adorning, 
Their death-clouded eyeballs descried 
on the field ! 

Now to our home, the proud mansion 
of Aspen, 
Bend we, gay victors, triumphant 
away ; 
There each fond damsel, her gallant 
youth clasping. 
Shall wipe from his forehead the 
stains of the fray. 
Listening the prancing 
Of horses advancing ; 
E'en now on the turrets our maidens 
appear. 
Love our hearts warming. 
Songs the night charming. 
Round goes the grape in the goblet 
gay dancing ; 
Love, wine, and song, our blithe even- 
ing shall cheer. 



RHEIN-WEIN LIED. 

What makes the troopers' frozen cour- 
age muster ? 
The grapes of juice divine. 
Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they 
cluster : 
O, blessed be the Rhine ! 

Let fringe and furs, and many a rabbit- 
skin, sirs. 
Bedeck your Saracen ; 
He '11 freeze without what warms our 
hearts within, sirs. 
When the night-frost crusts the fen. 

But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine 
they cluster. 
The grapes of juice divine, 
That make our troopers' frozen cour- 
age muster : 
O, blessed be the Rhine 1 



440 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ON THE SETTING SUN. 

[1783-] 
Those evening clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

I'lieir great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-lived thing called 

man. 
Whose life 's comprised within a span, 
To Him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints so gay and bold, 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold ! 

THE VIOLET. 

[1797-] 
The violet in her greenwood bower, 
Where birchen boughs with hazels 
mingle. 
May boast itself the fairest flower 
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. 

Though fair her gems of azure hue, 
Beneath the dewdrop's weight re- 
clining ; 
I 've seen an eye of lovelier blue. 
More sweet through watery lustre 
shining. 

The summer sun that dew shall dry. 
Ere yet the day be past its morrow ; 

Nor longer in my false love's eye 
Remained the tear of parting sorrow. 

TO A LADY. 

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL. 
[1797-] 

Take these flowers, which, purple wav- 
ing, 

On the ruined rampart grew, 
Where, the sons of freedom braving, 

Rome's imperial standards flew. 
Warriors from the breach of danger 

Pluck no longer laurels there ; 
They but yield the passing stranger 

Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's 
hair. 



THE BARD'S INCANTATION. 

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF IK- 
VASION IN THE AUTUMN OF 1804. 

The forest of Glenmore is drear, 
It is all of black pine and the dark 
oak-tree ; 

And the midnight wind, to the moun- 
tain deer. 
Is whistling the forest lullaby : 

The moon looks through the drifting 
storm, 

But the troubled lake reflects not her 
form. 

For the waves roll whitening to the 
land 

And dash against the shelvy strand. 

There is a voice among the trees, 
That mingles with the groaning 

oak, — 
That mingles with the stormy breeze. 
And the lake-waves dashing against 

the rock ; — 
There is a voice within the wood. 
The voice of the bard in fitful mood ; 
His song was louder than the blast. 
As the bard of Glenmore through the 

forest passed. 

" Wake ye from your sleep of death. 
Minstrels and bards of other days ! 

For the midnight wind is on the 
heath. 
And the midnight meteors dimly 
blaze : 

The Spectre with his Bloody Hand 

Is wandering through the wild wood- 
land ; 

The owl and the raven are mute for 
dread. 

And the time is meet to awake the 
dead! 

" Souls of the mighty, wake and say. 
To what high strain your harps 
were strung, 
When Lochlin plowed her billowy 
way. 
And on your shores her Norsemen 
flung .'' 



HELL VELL YN. 



441 



Her Norsemen trained to spoil and 

blood, 
Skilled to prepare the R aven's food, 
All, by your harpings, doomed to die 
On bloody Largs and Loncarty. 

"Mute are ye all? No murmurs 
strange 
Upon the midnight breeze sail by ; 
Nor through the pines, with whistling 
change 
Mimic the harp's wild harmony ! 
Mute are ye now? — Ye ne'er were 

mute. 
When Murder with his bloody foot, 
And Rapine with his iron hand, 
Were hovering near yon mountain 
strand. 

" O yet awake the strain to tell. 
By every deed in song enrolled, 

By every chief who fought or fell. 
For Albion's weal in battle bold : — 

From Coilgach, first who rolled his car 

Through the deep ranks of Roman 
war, 



To him, of veteran memory dear, 
Who victor died on Aboukir. 

" By all their swords, by all their 

scars, 
By all tlieir names, a mighty spell 1 
By all their wounds, by all tlieir wars, 

Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! 
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, 
More impious than the heathen 

Dane, 
More grasping than all-grasping 

Rome, 
Gaul's ravening legions hither 

come ! " 

The wind is hushed, and still the lake — 
Strange murmurs fill my tinkling ears, 

Bristles my hair, my sinews quake. 
At the dread voice of other years, — 
" When targets clashed, and bugles 

rung. 
And blades round warriors' heads 

were flung. 
The foremost of the band were we, 
And hymned the joys of Liberty I " 



HELLVELLYN. 
[1805.] 

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellj'n, 
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; 

All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling. 
And starting around me the echoes replied. 

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, 

And Catchedicam its left verge was defending. 

One huge, nameless rock in the front was ascending. 

When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather, 

Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, 
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? 

When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? 
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number. 

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? 
And, oh ! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him, 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him. 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him — 

Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart? 



44« MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded. 

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-Hghted hall ; 
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, 

And i)ages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; 
In the proudly-arched chajiel the banners are beaming ; 
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming. 

Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, 
When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, 

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying 

In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. 

THE DYING BARD. 
[1806.] 
Air — Daffydz Gangiven. 
I. 
DiNAS Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is nigh,_ 
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : 
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave. 
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. 

II. 
In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade 
Unhonored shall flourish, unhonored shall fade ; 
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, 
That viewed them with rapture, with rapture that sung. 

III. 

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, 
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
But where is the harp shall give life to their name? 
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? 

IV. 

And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair. 
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair; 
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye. 
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die ? 

V. 

Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene, 
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ; 
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, 
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 

VI. 

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, 
Unconquered thy warriors, and matchless thy maids I 
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell. 
Farewell, my loved Harp ! my last treasure, farewell I 



THE MAID OF TORO. 



443 



THE NORMAN HORSESHOE. 

[1806.] 

Air — T!te War-Song of the men of Gla- 
morgaft. 

I. 

Red glows the forge in Striguil's 

bounds, 
A.nd hammers din, and anvil sounds, 
And armorers, with iron toil, 
Barb many a steed tor battle's broil. 
Foul fall the hand which bends the 

steel 
Around the courser's thundering heel, 
That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! 

II. 
From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of 

morn, 
Was heard afar the bugle-horn : 
And forth, in banded pomp and pride. 
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. 
They swore, their banners broad should 

gleam. 
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream ; 



They vowed, Caerphili's sod should feel 
The Norman charger's spurning heel. 



And sooth they swore, — the sun arose. 
And Rynniy's wave with crimson glows ; 
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
And sooth they vowed, — the trampled 

green 
Showed where hot Neville's charge 

had been : 
In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
A Norman horseman's curdling blood ! 

IV. 

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the 

toil, 
That armed stout Clare for Cambrian 

broil ; 
Their orphans long the art may rue, 
For Neville's war-horse forged the 

shoe. 
No more the stamp of armed steed 
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; 
Nor trace be there in early spring, 
Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 



THE MAID OF TORO. 

[1806.] 

O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 

And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, 
All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, 

Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. 
" O saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending ; 

Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry, 
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending. 

My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die ! " 

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, 

With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail. 
Till the shout and the groan and the conflict's dread rattle 

And the chase's wild clamor came loading the gale. 
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary ; 

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; 
Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, 

Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 
*' O save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ! 

O save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! 
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying. 

And fast through the woodland approaches the foe." 
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow. 

And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair! 
And when the sun sunk on the svveet lake of Toro, 

Forever he set to the Brave and the Fair. 



444 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



THE PALMER. 

[1806.] 

"O, OPEN the door, some pity to show, 
Keen blows the northern wind ! 

The glen is white with the drifted snow, 
And the path is hard to find. 

'* No outlaw seeks your castle gate. 
From chasing the King's deer, 

Though even an outlaw's wretched state 
Might claim compassion here. 

" A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 

1 wander for my sin ; 
O, open, for Our Lady's sake ! 

A pilgrim's blessing win ! 

" I '11 give you pardons from the Pope, 
And reliques from o'er the sea, — 

Or if for these you will not ope, 
Yet open for charity. 

"The hare is crouching in her form, 

The hart beside the hind ; 
An aged man, amid the storm. 

No shelter can I find. 

" You hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, 
Dark, deep, and strong is he, 

And I must ford the Ettrick o'er, 
Unless you pity me. 

" The iron gate is bolted hard. 

At which I knock in vain ; 
The owner's heart is closer barred, 

Who hears me thus complain. 

*' Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant. 

When old and frail you be. 
You never may the shelter want 

That 's now denied to me." 

The Ranger on his couch lay warm, 
And heard him plead in vain ; 

But oft, amid December's storm, 
He '11 hear that voice again : 



For lo, when through the vapors dank 
Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 

A corpse amid the alders rank. 
The Palmer weltered there. 

THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 

[1806.] 

O, lovers' eyes are sharp to see. 

And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
And love, in life's extremity, 

Can lend an hour of cheering. 
Disease had been in Mary's bower. 

And slow decay from mourning, 
Though now she sits on Neidpath's 
tower, 

To watch her love's returning. 

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright. 

Her form decayed by pining. 
Till through her wasted hand, at night, 

You saw the taper shining ; 
By fits, a sultry hectic hue 

Across her cheek was flying ; 
By fits, so ashy pale she grew, 

Her maidens thought her dying. 

Yet keenest powers to see and hear 

Seemed in her frame residing ; 
Before the watch-dog pricked his ear. 

She heard her lover's riding ; 
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned. 

She knew, and waved to greet him ; 
And o'er the battlement did bend. 

As on the wing to meet him. 

He came — he passed — an heedless 
gaze. 

As o'er some stranger glancing : 
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 

Lost in his courser's prancing. — 
The castle arch, whose hollow tone 

Returns each whisper spoken, 
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 

Which told her heart was broken. 



WANDERING WILLIE. 
[1806.] 

All joy was bereft me the day that you left me. 
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ; 

O weary betide it ! I wandered beside it. 
And banned it for parting my Willie and me. 

Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune, 
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ; 

Ae kiss of welcome 's worth twenty at parting, 
Now I hae gotten my Willie again. 



HUNTING SONG. 



Ui 



When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, 

I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, 
And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, 

And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me. 

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, 

Now that my wanderer 's in safety at hame, 
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring 

That e'er o'er Inch- Keith drove the dark ocean faem. 

When the Hghts they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle. 

And blithe was each heart for the great victory, 
In secret I wept for the dangers of battle. 

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. 

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, 
Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar; 

And, trust me, I '11 smile, though my een they may glisten ; 
For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war. 

And O, how we doubt when there 's distance 'tween lovers, 
When there 's naething to speak to the heart through the ee ; 

How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers. 
And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. 

Till, at times, — could I help it ? — I pined and I pondered 
If love could change notes like the bird on the tree ; — 

Now I '11 ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered, 
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. 

Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel. 

Hardships and danger despising for fame. 
Furnishing story for glory's bright annal. 

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame ! 

Enough now thy story in annals of glory 

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain ; 
No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, 

I never will part with my Willie again. 

HUNTING SONG. 



[1808.] 
Waken^ lords and ladies gay. 
On the mountain dawns the day. 
All the jolly chase is here. 
With hawk, and horse, and hunting- 



spear 



Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
Hawks are whistling, horns are knell- 

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 

*' Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 

The mist has left the mountain gray, 

Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 

Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : 

And foresters have busy been, 

To track the buck in thicket green : 



Now we come to chant our lay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay.'* 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
To the greenwood haste away ; 
We can show you where he lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
We can show the marks he made. 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed; 
You shall see him brought to bay, 
" Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Louder, louder chant the lay. 
Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
Tell them, youth and mirth and glee 
Run a course as well as we ; 
Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, 
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ? 
Think of this, and rise with day. 
Gentle lords and ladies gay. 



446 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SONG. 
O SAY not, my love, with that mortified air, 

That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, 
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair. 

For those raptures that still are thine own. 

Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine. 

Its tendrils in infancy curled, 
'T is the ardor of August matures us the wine, 

Whose life-blood enlivens the world. 
Though thy form, that was fashioned as light as a fay's. 

Has assumed a proportion more round, 
And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze. 

Looks soberly now on the ground, — 

Enough, after absence to meet me again, 

Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; 
Enough that those dear sober glances retain 

For me the kind language of love. 



ON THE MASSACRE OF GLEN- 
COE. 

[1814.] 

" O TELL me. Harper, wherefore flow 
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe 
Far down the desert of Glencoe, 

Where none may list their melody? 
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, 
Or to the dun deer glancing by. 
Or to the eagle that from high 

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ? " 

*' No, not to these, for they have 

rest, — 
The mist-wreath has the mountain 

crest, 
The stag his lair, the erne her nest, 

Abode of lone security. 
But those for whom I pour the lay, 
Not wildwood deep, nor mountain 

gray. 
Not this deep dell, that shrouds from 

day, 
Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. 

" Their flag was furled, and mute their 

drum, 
The very household dogs were dumb, 
Unwont to bay at guests that come 

In guise of hospitality. 
His blithest notes the piper plied. 
Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
The dame her distaff flung aside, 

To tend her kindly housewifery. 



" The hand that mingled in the 

meal 
At midnight drew the felon steel, 
And gave the host's kind breast to 
feel 
Meed for his hospitality ! 
The friendly hearth which warmed that 

hand 
At midnight armed it with the brand. 
That bade destruction's flames ex- 
pand 
Their red and fearful blazonry. 

." Then woman's shriek was heard in 

vain, 
Nor infancy's unpitied plain. 
More than the warrior's groan, could 

gain 
Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
The winter wind that whistled shrill, 
The snows that night that cloaked the 

hill. 
Though wild and pitiless, had still 
Far more than Southern clemency. 

" Long have my harp's best notes been 

gone, 
Few are its strings, and faint theii 

tone, 
They can but sound in desert lone 

Their gray-haired master's misery. 
Were each gray hair a minstrel string. 
Each chord should imprecations fling, 
Till startled Scotland loud should ring, 

' Revenge for blood and treachery ! ' '" 



LETTER IN- VERSE. 447 



Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder, 
Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; 
Mountains which the gray mist cov- 
ers, 
Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO RANALD MACDONALD, 
ESQ., OF STAFFA. 

[1814.] 

Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, ! Pausing while his pinions quiver, 

Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ! 1 Stretched to quit our land forever ! 
Staffa ! king of all kind fellows ! Each kind influence reign above thee ! 

Well befall thy hills and valleys. Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Stafta 

Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows, — ' Beats not, than in heart of Staffa I 

LETTER IN VERSE, 

ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS. 

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, 

&C., &C., &C. 

Light-house Yacht in the Sound of Lervnck, 
Zetland, 8th August, 1814. 

Health to the chieftain from his clansman true ! 
From her true minstrel, health to fair Buccleuch ! 
Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves 
■■ Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; 
Where late the sun scarce vanished from the sight. 
And his bright pathway graced the short-lived night, 
Though darker now as autumn's shades extend, 
The north winds whistle and the mists ascend ! 
Health from the land where eddying whirlwinds toss 
The storm-rocked cradle of the cape of Noss ; 
On outstretched cords the giddy engine slides. 
His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, 
And he that lists sucli desperate feat to try 
May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky. 
And feel the mid-air gales around him blow. 
And see the billows rage five hundred feet below. 

Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore, 
The hardy isiesman tugs the daring oar. 
Practised alike his venturous course to keep. 
Through the white breakers or the pathless deep. 
By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain 
A wretched pittance from the niggard main. 
And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves. 
What comfort greets him, and what hut receives? 
Lady I the worst your presence e'er has cheered 
(When want and sorrow fled as you appeared) 
Were to a Zetlander as the high dome 
Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. 
Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, 
Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow; ' 

But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm arrayed, 
Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade. 
With many a cavern seamed, the dreary haunt 
Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. 
Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent cry 
As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, 



448 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And from their sable base, with sullen sound, 
In sheets ot whitening toani the waves rebound. 

Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain 
From those whose land has known oppression's chain; 
For here the industrious Dutchman comes once more 
To moor his fishing craft by Bressay's shore ; 
Greets every former mate and brother tar, 
Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war, 
Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done. 
And ends by blessing God and Wellington. 
Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, 
Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest : 
Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, 
And wakes the land with brawls and boisterous mirth. 
A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow 
The captive Norseman sits in silent woe. 
And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. 
Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway 
His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; 
A bark with planks so warped and seams so riven. 
She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven : 
Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none 
Can list his speech, and understand his moan ; 
In vain, — no Islesnian can now use the tongue 
Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage sprung. 
Nc* thus of old the Norsemen hither came. 
Won by the love of danger or of fame ; 
On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower 
Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their power; 
For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land, 
Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand ; 
A race severe, — the isle and ocean lords 
Loved for its own delight the strife of swords ; 
With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied. 
And blest their gods that they in battle died. 

Such were the sires of Zetland's simple race. 
And still the eye may faint resemblance trace 
In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair. 
The limbs athletic, and the long light hair 
(Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings. 
Of fair haired Harold, first of Norway's Kings) ; 
But their high deeds to scale these crags confined, 
Their only warfare is with waves and wind. 

Why should I talk of Mousa's castle coast? 
Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Rost ; 
Jvlay not these bald disjointed lines suffice, 
Penned while my comrades whirl the rattling dice, — 
While down the cabin skylight lessening shine 
The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine ? 
Imagined, while down Mousa's desert bay. 
Our well-trimmed vessel urged her nimble way, 
While to the freshening breeze she leaned her side, 
And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide ? 



LETTER IN VERSE. 449 

Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply ; 
Drenched with the drizzly spray and dropping sky. 
Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I. W. Scott. 

POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. 
In respect that your Grace has commissioned a Kraken, 
You will please be informed that they seldom are taken ; 
It is January two years, the Zetland folks say. 
Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway Bay ; 
He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, 
But the devil a Zetlander put fiom the shore, 
Though bold in the seas of the North to assail 
The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and whale. 
If your Grace thinks I 'm writing the thing that is not. 
You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott 
(He 's not from our clan, though his merits deserve it, 
But springs, I 'm informed, from the Scotts of Scotstavet); 
He questioned the folks who beheld it with eyes, 
But they differed confoundedly as to its size. 
For instance, the modest and diffident swore 
That it seemed like the keel of a ship, and no more — 
Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more high, 
Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and sky — 
But all of the hulk had a steady opinion 
That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's dominion — 
And I think, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly would wish. 
To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish. 
Had your order related to nightcaps or hose, 
Or mittens of worsted, there 's plenty of those. 
Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? 
And direct me to send it — by sea or by mail? 
The season, I 'm told, is nigh over, but still 
I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. 
Indeed, as to whales, there 's no need to be thrifty, 
Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty. 
Pursued by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more. 
Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the shore I 
You '11 ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; 
I own that I did not, but easily might, — 
For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay 
On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, 
And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil, 
And flinching (so terni it) the blubber to boil. 
(Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection 
That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous dissection.) 
To see this huge marvel full fain would we go. 
But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. 
We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must stare 
When I think that in verse I have once called it /air; 
'T is a base little borough, both dirty and mean — 
There is nothing to hear, and there 's naught to be seen. 
Save a church where, of old times, a prelate harangued. 
And a palace that 's built by an earl that was hanged. 
29 



4SO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But farewell to Kirkwall, — aboard we are going. 

The anchor 's a-peak, and the breezes are blowing ; 

Our commodore calls all his band to their places, 

And 'tis tinje to release you — good night to your Graces ! 

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL, 

from the gaelic. 

[1815. — tEt. 44.] 

Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, 
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth ; 
To the Chieftain this morning his course who began. 
Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. 
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, 
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail \ 

O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, 

May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, 

In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, 

Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean should boil: 

On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonail, 

And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ! 

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale ! 
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail ; 
Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must know. 
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe : 
Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale, 
Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 

Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, 
To measure the seas and to study the skies : 
May he hoist all his canvas from streamer to deck. 
But O, crowd it higher when wafting him back ! — 
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale. 
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail I 

IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONa 

So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart. 
When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. 
Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are heard 
Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard ; 
Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter gale. 
As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

From the far Southland Border a Minstrel came forth. 
And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north 
His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast, 
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast ; 
But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael, 
To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. 

" And shalt thou then sleep," did the Minstrel exclaim, 

" Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame ? 

No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of woe 

The song thou hast loved o'er thy cofjn shall flow. 

And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wail. 

That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail * 



SAINT CLOUD. 



431 



In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong, 

Fate deadened thine ear and imprisoned thy tongue; 

For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose 

The glow of the genius they could not oppose ; 

And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, 

Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ? 

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love, 

All a father could hope, all a friend could approve ; 

What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell, — 

In the spring-time of youth and of promise they fell I 

Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male, 

To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail. 

And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear, to thy grief, 
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief, 
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left, 
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft, 
To thine ear of affection how sad is the hail, 
That salutes thee the Heir of the line of Kintail ! 



WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN 

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. 

From the Gaelic. 

A WEARY month has wandered o'er 
Since last we parted on the shore ; 
Heaven ! that I saw thee. Love, once 
more. 

Safe on that shore again ! — 
'T was valiant Lachlan gave the word : 
Lachlan, of many a galley lord : 
He called his kindred bands on board. 

And launched them on the main. 

Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone ; 
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; 
Rejoicing in the glory won 

In many a bloody broil : 
For wide is heard the thundering fray, 
The rout, the ruin, the dismay. 
When from the twilight glens away 

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. 

Woe to the hills that shall rebound 
Our bannered bagpipes' maddening 

sound ! 
Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. 

Shall shake their inmost cell. 

Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze 

Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays ! 

The fools might face the lightning's 

blaze 

As wisely and as well I * 



SAINT CLOUD. 
[Paris, 5th September, 1815.] 

Soft spread the southern summer night 

Her veil of darksome blue ; 
Ten thousand stars combined to light 

The terrace of Saint Cloud. 
The evening breezes gently sighed, 

Like breath of lover true, 
Bewailing the deserted pride 

And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. 

The drum's deep roll was heard afar, 

The bugle wildly blew 
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, 

That garrison Saint Cloud. 

The startled Naiads from the shade 
With broken urns withdrew. 

And silenced was that proud cascade, 
The glory of Saint Cloud. 

We sat upon its steps of stone, 

Nor could its silence rue. 
When waked, to music of our own. 

The echoes of Saint Cloud. 

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note 

Fall light as summer dew. 
While through the moonless air they 
float. 

Prolonged from far Saint Cloud. 

And sure a melody more sweet 

His waters never knew. 
Though music's self was wont to meet 

With Princes at Saint Cloud. 



452 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Nor then, with more delighted ear, 

The circle round her drew, 
Than ours, when gathered round to hear 

Our songstress at Saint Cloud. 
Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — 

Then give those hours their due, 
And rank among the foremost class 

Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 

THE DANCE OF DEATH. 

[1815.] 
I. 
Night and morning were at meeting 

Over Waterloo ; 
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting ; 

Faint and low they crew, 
For no paly beam yet shone 
On the heights of Mount Saint John ; 
Tempest clouds prolonged the sway 
Of timeless darkness over day ; 
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower. 
Marked it a predestined hour. 
Broad and frequent through the night 
Flashed the sheets of levin-light ; 
Muskets, glancing lightnings back, 
Showed the dreary bivouac 

Where the soldier lay. 
Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain, 
Wishing dawn of morn again. 

Though death should come with 
day. 

II. 

'T is at such a tide and hour, 
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, 
And ghastly forms through mist and 
shower 

Gleam on the gifted ken ; 
And then the affrighted prophet's ear 
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear 
Presaging death and ruin near 

Among the sons of men ; — 
Apart from Albyn's war- array, 
'T was then gray Allan sleepless lay ; 
Gray Allan, who, for many a day. 
Had followed, stout and stern, 
Where, through battle's rout and reel, 
Storm of shot and edge of steel. 
Led the grandson of Lochiel, 

Valiant Fassiefern. 
Through steel and shot he leads no 

more. 
Low laid 'mid friends' and foeraen's 
gore, — 



But long his native lake's wild shore. 
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgowe^ 

And Morven long shall tell, 
And proud Bennevis hear with awe. 
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, 
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurr^ 

Of conquest as he fell. 



'Lone on the outskirts of the host. 
The weary sentinel held post. 
And heard, through darkness far a'i<ra4i 
The frequent clang of courser's ho( ;i 
Where held the cloaked patrol vheir 

course. 
And spurred 'gainst storm the swtrving 

horse : 
But there are sounds in Allan's ear, 
Patrol nor sentinel may hear. 
And sights before his eye aghast 
Invisible to them have passed. 

When down the destined plain, 
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, 
Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance. 
Strange phantoms wheeled a revel 

dance. 
And doomed the future slain. — 
Such forms were seen, such sounds 

were heard, 
When Scotland's James his march pre- 
pared 
For Flodden's fatal plain ; 
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, 
As Choosers of the Slain ado/ed 
The yet unchristened Dane. 
An indistinct and phantom hand. 
They wheeled their ring-dance hand in 

hand. 
With gestures wild and dread ; 
The Seer, who watched thfjm ride the 

storm 
Saw through their faint and shadowj 

form 
The lightning's flash more red « 
And still their ghastly roundelay 
Was of the coming battle- fray. 
And of the destined dead. 

IV. 

SONG. 

Wheel the wild dance 
While lightnings glance. 
And thunders rattle loud. 



ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. 



453 



And call the brave 

To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Our airy feet, 

So light and fleet. 

They do not bend the rye 

That sinks its head when whirlwinds 

rave, 
And swells again in eddying wave 
As each wild gust blows by ; 
But still the corn, 
At dawn of morn 
Our fatal steps that bore, 
At eve lies waste, 
A trampled paste 
Of blackening mud and gore. 

V. 

Wheel the wild dance 

While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud, 

And call the brave 

Vo bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Wheel the wild dance ! 

Brave sons of France, 

I'or you our ring makes room ; 

Make space full wide 

For martial pride. 

For banner, spear, and plume. 

Approach, draw near. 

Proud cuirassier ! 

Room for the men of steel ! 

Through crest and plate 

The broadsword's weight 

Both head and heart shall feel. 



Wheel the wild dance 

While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud. 

And call the brave 

To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 



Sons of the spear I 

You feel us near 

In many a ghastly dream ; 

With fancy's eye 

Our forms you spj'. 

And hear our fatal scream. 

With clearer sight 

Ere falls the night, 

Just when to weal or woe 

Your disembodied souls take flight 

On trembling wing, — each startled sprite 

Our choir of death shall know. 



Wheel the wild dance 

While lightnings glance, 

And thunders rattle loud. 

And call the brave 

To bloody grave, 

To sleep without a shroud. 

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, 
Redder rain shall soon be ours — 
See the east grows wan — 
Yield we place to sterner game. 
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame 
Shall the welkin's thunders shame ; 
Elemental rage is tame 
To the wrath of man. 



At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe 
Heard of the visioned sights he saw, 

The legend heard him say ; 
But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, 
Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, 

Ere closed that bloody day. — 
He sleeps far from his Highland heath,— 
But often of the Dance of Death 

His comrades tell the tale. 
On picket-post, when ebbs the night, 
And waning watchfires glow less bright, 

And dawn is glimmering pale. 



ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. 

FROM THE FRENCH. 
[1815.] 

It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, 

But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine : 

"And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was still the Soldier's prayer, 

" That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair." 



454 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



His oath of honor on the shrine he graved it with his sword, 
And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord; 
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air, 
" Be honored aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair." 

They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege Lord said, 
" The heart that has for honor beat by bliss must be repaid. — 
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, 
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair." 

And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary's shrine, 
That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine ; 
And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel there, 
Cried, " Honored be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair ! " 



THE TROUBADOUR. 

FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. 
[1815.] 

Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 

A Troubadour that hated sorrow 
Beneath his lady's window came, 

And thus he sung his last good-mor- 
row : 
*' My arm it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my true-love's bower; 
Gayly for love and fame to fight 

Befits the gallant Troubadour." 

And while he marched with helm on 
head 

And harp in hand, the descant rung, 
As, faithful to his favorite maid. 

The minstrel-burden still he sung : 
"My arm it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 



Resolved for love and fame to fight, 
I come, a gallant Troubadour." 

Even when the battle-roar was deep, 

With dauntless heart he hewed his 
way, 
'Mid splintering lance and falchion- 
sweep, 

And still was heard his warrior-lay : 
" My life it is my country's right. 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
For love to die, for fame to fight. 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 

Alas ! upon the bloody field 

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, 
But still, reclining on his shield, 

Expiring sung the exulting stave : — 
" My life it is my country's right, 

My heart is in my lady's bower ; 
For love and fame to fall in fight 

Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 



SONG, 

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH AT A GREAT 
FOOT-BALL MATCH ON CARTEKHAUGH. 

[1815.] 

From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending. 

Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame ; 
And each forester blithe, from his mountain descending. 

Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game. 



Theft icp with the Ban7ier, let forest winds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; 

In sport we '// attend her, in battle defend her. 

With heart and with hand, like otcr fathers before. 

When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, 
At the glance of her crescent he paused and withdrew. 

For around them were marshalled the pride of the Border, 
The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buccleuch. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 



LULLABY OF AN LVFANT CHIEF. 455 

A i,tripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her, 

No mail-glove has grasped her, no spearmen surround : 
But ere a bold foeman should scath or should scorn her, 
A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 
We forget each contention of civil dissension. 

And hail, like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and Car: 
And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle. 
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 
Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather. 

And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, 
There are worse things in life tlian a tumble on heather. 
And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 
And when it is over, we '11 drink a blithe measure 

To each Laird and each Lady that witnessed our fun, 
And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure, 
To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. 
Then up with the Banner, &c. 
May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, 

From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle-nook ; 
And huzza ! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch and his standard, 
For the King and the Country, the Clan and the Duke ! 
Then up with the Batmer, let forest winds fan her. 
She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and tnore ; 
In sport we 'II attend her, in battle defend her. 

With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. 

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. 

Air — " CadtU gn lo." 

[1815.] 
I. 

O HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, 

Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright ; 

The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, 

They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

IL 

O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows. 
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red. 
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 

III. 

O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while ycu may. 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 



45^ 



MIS CELL A NEOUS POEMS. 



THE RETURN TO ULSTER. 
[iSi6.] 

Once again, — but how changed since my wanderings began, • 

I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, 

And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar 

That wearies the echoes of fair TuUamore. 

Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn I 

With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return ? 

Can I live the dear life of delusion again. 

That flowed when these echoes first mixed with my strain? 

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown, 

High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown ; 

The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew, 

The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. 

I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire 

At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their lyre : 

To me 't was not legend, nor tale to the ear, 

But a vision of noontide, distinguished and clear. 

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call. 

And renewed the wild pomp of the chase and the hall ; 

And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high, 

Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh. 

It seemed that the harp of green Erin once more 

Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore, — 

Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou bum? 

They were days of delusion and cannot return. 

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by, 
And listed my lay, while she turned from mine eye ? 
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view. 
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew? 
Oh ! would it had been so, — oh ! would that her eye 
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky, 
And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill 
Had been but a zephyr, that sighed and was still ! 

Oh ! would it had been so, — not then this poor heart 

Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to part ; 

To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. 

While I toiled for the wealth I had no one to share. 

Not then had I said, when life's summer was done. 

And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on, 

" Take the fame and the riches ye broiight in your train, 

And restore me the dreani of my spring-tide again." 



JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 

Air — "A Border Melody." 
[1816.] 
I. 
" Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 

Why weep ye by the tide? 
I '11 wed ye to my youngest son. 
And ye sail be his bride : 



And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 
Sae comely to be seen " — 

But aye she loot the tears down fa* 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 



" Now let this wilfu' grief be done. 
And dry that cheek so pale ; 

Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
j\vA lord of Langley-daJe ; 



MA CGEEGOR'S GA THERING. 



457 



His step is first in peaceful ha', 
His sword in battle keen " — 

But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
For Jock of Hazeldean. 



" A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 

Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
And you, the foremost o' them a', 

Shall ride our forest queen " — 
But aye she loot the tears down fa' 

For Jock of Hazeldean. 



The kirk was decked at morning-tide. 

The tapers glimmered fair ; 
The priest and bridegroom wait the 
bride, 

And dame and knight are there. 
1 hey sought her baith by bower and 
ha' ; 

The ladie was not seen ! 
S?he 's o'er the Border, and awa' 

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 

lUBROCH OF DONALD DHU. 

Air — " Piobair of Doiiuil Dhuidh." 
[1816.] 

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, 

Summon Clan Conuil. 
Come away, come away, 

Hark to the summons ! 



Come in your war array, 
Gentles and commons 

Come from deep glen, and 

From mountain so rocky, 
The war-pipe and pennon 

Are at Inverlocky. 
Come every hill-plaid, and 

True heart that wears one. 
Come every steel blade, and 

Strong hand that bears onr». 

Leave untended the herd. 

The flock witiiout shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterred, 

The bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, 

Leave nets and barges : 
Come with your fighting gear, 

Broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when 

Forests are rended : 
Come as the waves come, when 

Navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come. 

Faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, 

Tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; 

See how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle plume. 

Blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades. 

Forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 

Knell for the onset 1 



MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. 



Air 



" ThairC a Grisralach." 



[1816.] 

The moon 's on the lake, and the mist 's on the brae, 
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day ; 

Then, gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, &c. 

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew. 
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! 

Then, haloo, Grigalach ! haloo, Grigalach ! 

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c. 

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her towers, 
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours : 

We 're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach ! 

Landless, landless, landless, &:c. 



458 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord, 
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword ! 

Then, courage, courage, courage, Grigalach ! 

Courage, courage, courage, &c. 

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles. 

Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles ! 

Then, vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach ! 

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. 

While there 's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, 
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish forever ! 

Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach ! 

Come then, come then, come then, &c. 

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career. 
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer. 
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt. 
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt. 

Then, gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! 

Gather, gather, gather, &c. 



NORA'S VOW. 

Air — " Cha teid tnis a chaoidh." 



Hear what Highland Nora said, 
"The Earlie's son I will not wed. 
Should all the race of nature die, 
And none be left but he and L 
For all the gold, for all the gear, 
And all the lands both far and near. 
That ever valor lost or won, 
I would not wed the Earlie's son." 



"A maiden's vows," old Galium 

spoke, 
" Are lightly made, and lightly broke ; 
The heather on the mountain's height 
Begins to bloom in purple light ; 
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away 
That lustre deep from glen and brae; 
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone, 
May blithely wed the Earlie's son." 



"The swan," she said, "the lake's 

clear breast 
May barter for the eagle's nest ; 
The Awe's fierce stream may backward 

turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kil- 

churn ; 
Our kilted clans, wjien blood is high, 
Before their foes may turn and fly ; 
But L were all these marvels done. 
Would never wed the Earlie's son." 



Still in the water-lily's shade 
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made; 
Ben-Cruaichan stands fast as ever. 
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce 

river ; 
To shun the clash of foeman's steel, 
No Highland brogue has turned the 

heel ; 
But Nora's heart is lost and won, 
— She 's wedded to the Earlie's son ! 



THE FORAY. 
The last of otir steers on the board has been spread. 
And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red ; 
Up ! up, my brave kinsman ! belt swords and begone, 
There are dangers to dare, and there 's spoil to be won. 
The eyes that so lately nrixed glances with ours 
For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, 



THE SUN UPON THE IVEIRDLA W HILL. 



459 



And strive to distinguish, through tempest and gloom, 
The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. 

The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; 
And the moon her red beacon has veiled with a cloud ; 
'T is the better, my mates ! for the warder's dull eye 
Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. 

Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my blithe Gray ! 
There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh ; 
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane 
Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. 

The drawbridge has dropped, the bugle has blown ; 
One pledge is to quaff j'et, — then mount and begone ! — 
To their honor and peace, that shall rest with the slain; 
To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again ! 



THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S 
MARCH. 

AIR — " Ymdaith Mionge." 

[1S17.] 

When the heathen trumpet's clang 
Round beleaguered Chester rang. 
Veiled nun and friar gray 
Marched from Bangor's fair Abbaye ; 
High their holy anthem sounds, 
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds, 
Floating down the sylvan Dee, 

O miserere, Domine I 

On the long procession goes, 
Glory round their crosses glows, 
And the Virgin-mother mild 
In their peaceful banner smiled ; 
Who could think such saintly band 
Doomed to feel unhallowed hand ! 
Such was the Divine decree, 

O miserere, Dotnine ! 

Bands that masses only sung, 
Hands that censers only swung, 
Met the northern bow and bill. 
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill ; 
Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand, 
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand, 
Woe to Saxon cruelty, 

O miserere, Domine 1 

Weltering amid warriors slain. 
Spurned by steeds with bloody mane, 
Slaughtered down by heathen blade, 
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid ; 



Word of parting rest unspoke. 
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke : 
For their souls for charity, 

Sitig, O miserere, Domine f 

Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! 
Long thy ruins told the tale. 
Shattered towers and broken arch 
Long recalled the woful march : 
On thy shrine no tapers bum, 
Never shall thy priests return ; 
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, 

O tniserere, Dotnine I 

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRD- 
LAW HILL. 

Air — " Rimhin ahcui 'stu mo run." 
[1817.] 
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 

In Ettrick's vale is sinking sweet ; 
The westland wind is hush and still, 
The lake lies sleeping at my feet. 
Yet not the landscape to mine eye 
Bears those bright hues that once it 
bore ; 
Though Evening, with her richest dye. 
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's 
shore. 

With listless look along the plain, 
I see Tweed's silver current glide, 

And coldly mark the holy fane 
Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. 

The quiet lake, the balmy air. 
The hill, the stream, the tower, the 
tree, — 



460 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Are they still such as once they were. 
Or is the dreary change in me ? 

Alas the warped and broken board, 

How can it bear the painter's dye ! 
The harp of strained and tuneless chord, 



How to the minstrel's skill reply ! 
To aching eyes each landscape loweis, 

To feverish pulse each gale blows 
chill ; 
And Araby's or Eden's bowers 

Were barren as this moorland hilL 



MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT. 

Air — " Cha till mi tuille." 

[1818.] 

MacLeod's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, 
The rowers are seated, unmoored are the galleys ; 
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver, 
As Mackrimmon sings, " Farewell to Dunvegan forever I 
Farewell to each cliflf, on which breakers are foaming ; 
Farewell, each dark glen, in which red deer are roaming ; 
Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ; 
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never I 

" Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping ; 

Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping ; 

To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and forever — 

Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! 

The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me, 

The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; 

But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver, 

Though devoted I go — to return again never ! 

"Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's bewailing 
Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing ; 
Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, 
Return — return — return shall we never I 

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille ! 

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, 

Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon ! '* 



DONALD CAIRO'S COME 
AGAIN. 

Air — " Malcolin Ca ird 's come again." 
[1818.] 
CHORUS. 

Donald Caird 'j come again I 
Donald Caird'' s cotne again ! 
Tell the news in brugh and glen., 
Donald Caird'' s come agaitt I 

Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 
Blithely dance the Hieland fling, 
Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; 
Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, 
Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 



Tell the news in brugh and glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again. 

Donald Caird 'j come again I 
Donald Caird 's come again .' 
Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
Donald Caird 'j come again. 

Donald Caird can wire a maukin. 
Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staukin'. 
Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; 
Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers. 
He can wauk when they are sleepers ; 
Not for bountith or reward 
Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 

Donald Caird'' s come again ! 

Donald Caird 'j come again ! 

Gar the bagpipes kutn amaith 

Donald Caird 's cotne again. 



THE MAID OF ISLA. 



461 



DonaW Caird can drink a gill 
Fast as hostler-wife can fill ; 
Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; 
When he 's fou he 's stout and saucy, 
Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; 
Hieland chief and Lawland laird 
Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! 

Donald Caird'' s come again ! 

Donald Caird'' s come again ! 

Tell the news in brugk and glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Steek the amrie, lock the kist, 
Else some gear may weel be mist ; 
Donald Caird finds orra things 
Where Allan Gre'gor fand the tings ; 
Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo. 
Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, 
Webs or duds frae hedge or yard — 
'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 

Dofiald Caird 's come again ! 

DofialdCnird^s come again ! 

Dinna let the Shirra ken 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

On Donald Caird the doom was stern, 

Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 

But Donald Caird wi' mickle studj'. 

Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; 

Rings of airn, and bolts of steel. 

Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 

Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, 

Donald Caird 's come again ! 

Donald Caird \ come again ! 
Donald Caird '5 cotne again I 
Dinfia let the Justice ken 
Donald Caird 's come again. 

ON ETTRICK FOREST'S 
MOUNTAINS DUN. 

[1822.] 

On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 
'T is blithe to hear the sportsman's gun. 
And seek the heath -frequenting brood 
Far through the noonday solitude ; 
By many a cairn and trenched mound. 
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and 

sound. 
And springs, where gray-haired shep- 
herds tell, 
Tliat still the fairies love to dwell. 

Along the silver streams of Tweed, 
'T is blithe the mimic fly to lead, 



When to the hook the salmon springs, 
And the line whistles through the rings ; 
The boiling eddy see him try, 
Then dashing from the current high. 
Till watchful eye and cautious hand 
Have led his wasted strength to land. 
'Tis blithe along the midnight tide 
With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; 
On high the dazzling blaze to rear, 
And heedful plunge the barbed spear ; 
Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, 
Fling on the stream their ruddy light, 
And from the bank our band appears 
Like Genii, armed with fiery spears. 
'T is blithe at eve to tell the tale. 
How we succeed, and how we fail, 
Whether at Alywn's lordly meal, 
Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ; 
While the gay tapers cheerly shine. 
Bickers the fire, and flows the wine — 
Days free from thought, and nights 

from care, 
My blessing on the Forest fair. 

THE MAID OF ISLA. 

Air — " The Maid of Isla" 
[1822.] 
O Maid of Isla, from the cliff, 

That looks on troubled wave and sky, 
Dost thou not see yon little skiff 
Contend with ocean gallantly? 
Now beating 'gainst the breeze and 
surge. 
And steepedher leeward deck in foam. 
Why does she war unequal urge ? — 
O Isla's maid, she seeks her home, 

O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark. 

Her white wing gleams through mist 
and spray. 
Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark. 

As to the rock she wheels away ; — 
Where clouds are dark and billows rave, 

Why to the shelter should she come 
Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave? — 

O maid of Isla, 'tis her home ! 
As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, 

Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring, 
And cold as is yon wintry cliff. 

Where sea-birds close their wearied 
wing. 
Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, 

Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come ; 
Ff'r in thy love, or in his grave, 

Alust Allan Voui-ich find his home. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. 
[1822.] 
Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoyed me 

At the close of the evening through woodlands to roam. 
Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me 

Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. 
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking 

The language alternate of rapture and woe : 
Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are breaking, 

The pang that I feel at our parting can know. 
Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow. 

Or pale disappointment to darken my way, 
What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, 

Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day ! 
But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, 

The grief, Queen of Numbers, thou canst not assuage ; 
Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining. 

The languor of pain, and the chillness of age. 
'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing. 

To sing how a warrior lay stretched on the plain, 
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing. 

And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; 
As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of wild Numbers, 

To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, 
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers, — 

Farewell, then, Enchantress ; — I meet thee no more; 

THE BANNATYNE CLUB. 
I. 

Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, 
To sin? in the praises of sage Bannatyne, 
Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore 
As enables each age to print one volume more. 

One volume more, my friends, one volume more. 
We '11 ransack old Banny for one volume more. 
II. 
And first, Allan Ramsay was eager to glean 
From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen ; 
Two li2,ht little volumes (intended for four) 
Still leave us the task to print one volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 



His \,vays were not ours, for he cared not a pin 
How much he left out, or how much he put in ; 
The trutli of the reading he thought was a bore. 
So this accurate age calls for one volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 



Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, 
And weighed every letter in critical scales, 



THE BOLD DRAGOON. 463 

But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor, 
And castrated Banny in one volume more. 

One volume more, my friends, one volume more ; 

We '11 restore Banny's manhood in one volume more. 

V. 

John Pinkerton next, and I 'm truly concerned 

I can't call that worthy so candid as learned ; 

He railed at the plaid and blasphemed the claymore, 

And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more. 
One volume more, my friends, one volume more, 
Celt and Go:h shall be pleased with one volume more. 

VI. 

As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor. 

And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar ; 

His diet too acid, his temper too sour. 

Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. 
But one volume, my friends, one volume more. 
We '11 dine on roast-beef and print one volume more. 

VII. 

The stout Gothic yedltur, next on the roll. 
With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal ; 
And honest Greysteel that was true to the core. 
Lent their heart^^ and their hands each to one volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 

VIII. 

Since by these single champions what wonders were done, 
What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One ? 
Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps. 
And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more. 
One volume more, &c. 

IX. 

Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye, 
We '11 print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; 
Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er 
The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more. 
Three volumes more, &c. 

X. 

They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and Sext^ 
And the Rob of Dunblane and her Bishops come next ; 
One tome miscellaneous they '11 add to your store, 
Resolving next year to print four volumes more. 

Four volumes more, my friends, four volumes more ; 

Pay down your subscriptions fur four volumes more. 



THE BOLD DRAGOON; 

OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. 

'T WAS a Mar^chal of France, and he fain would honor gain,_ 
And he longed to take a passing glance at Portugal from Spain; 



464 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



With his flying guns this gallant gay, 
And boasted corps d'armee, — 
O, he feared not our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly ridingi 
Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, 

Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sacked the town, 

When, 'twas peste ! morbleu ! mon General, 

Hear the English bugle call ! 
And behold the light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. 

Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all. 

And as the Devil leaves a house they tumbled through the wall ; 

They took no time to seek the door. 

But best foot set before, — 
O they ran from our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, 

Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Those valiant men of France, they had scarcely fled a mile. 
When on their flank there soused at once the British rank and file ; 

For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then 

Ne'er minded one to ten. 
But came on like light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. 

Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Three hundred British lads they made three thousand reel. 

Their hearts were made of English oak, their swords of Sheffield steel. 

Their horses were in Yorkshire bred, 

And Beresford them led ; 
So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, 

Whack, fal de ral, &c. 

Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beresford, to Long, 
And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my song : 

The e'agles that to fight he brings 

Should serve his men with wings, 
When they meet the bold dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. 

Whack, fal de ral, &c. 



FOR A' THAT AN' A' THAT. 

A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. 

Though right be aft put down by 
strength, 

As mony a day we saw that, 
The true and leilfu' cause at length 

Shall bear the grie for a' that ! 
For a' that an' a' that, 

Guns, guillotines, and a' that. 
The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right, 

Is queen again for a' that ! 
We '11 twine her in a friendly knot 

With England's Rose, and a' that ; 
The Shamrock shall not be forgot. 

For Wellington made bra' that. 



The Thistle, though her leaf be rude. 

Yet faith we '11 no misca' that, 
She sheltered in her solitude 

The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that. 

The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine 

(For Blucher's sake, hurra that). 
The Spanish Olive, too, shall join, 

And bloom in peace for a' that. 
Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely twined 

Around our wreath we '11 draw that, 
And he that would the cord unbind. 

Shall have it for his gra-vat ! 

Or, if to choke sae puir a sot. 

Your pity scorn to thraw that, 
The Devil's elbo' be his lot, 



CARLE, NO IV THE KING'S COME. 



465 



Where he may sit and claw that. 
In spite of slight, in spite of might 

In spite of brags and a' that, 
The lads that battled for the right, 

Have won the day and a' that ! 

There 's ae bit spot I had forgot, 

America they ca' that ! 
A coward plot her rats had got 

Their father's flag to gnaw that : 
Now see it fly top-gallant high, 

Atlantic winds shall blaw that, 
And Yankee loon, beware your croun. 

There 's kames in hand to claw that ! 
For on the land, or on the sea, 

Where'er the breezes blaw that, 
The British Flag shall bear the grie, 

And win the day for a' that 1 



CARLE, NOW THE KING'S 
COME. 

BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING. 

The news has flown frae mouth to 

mouth. 
The North for ance has banged the 

South ; 
The deil a Scotsman 's die o' drouth. 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

CHORUS. 

Carle, now the King's come ! 
Carle, now the King's come ! 
Thou shalt dance, and I will sing, 
Carle, now the King 's come 1 

Auld England held him lang and fast ; 
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast ; 
But Scotland's turn is come at last — 
Carle, now the King 's come : 

Auld Reekie, in her rokelay gray. 
Thought never to have seen the day ; 
He 's been a weary time away — 

But, Carle, now the King 's come ! 

She 's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; 
The Carline's voice is grown so shrill, 
Ye '11 hear her at the Canon-mill — 
Carle, now the King 's come 1 

"Up, bairns !" she cries, " baith grit 

and sma'. 
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw ! — 
Stand by me, and we Ml bang them a' — 
Carle, now the King 's come I 



"Come from Newbattle's ancient 

spires, 
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and 

squires. 
And match the mettle of your sires — 

Carle, now the King 's come ! 
" You 're welcome hame, my Montagu ! 

Bring in your hand the young Buc- 

cieuch ; — 
I 'm missing some that I may rue, — 
Carle, now the King 's come ; 

" Come, Haddington, the kind and gay. 
You 've graced my causeway mony a 

day ; 
I '11 weep the cause if you should stay— 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Come, premier Duke, and carry doun 
Frae yonder craig his ancient croun ; 
It 's had a lang sleep and a soun' — 
But, Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, 
Bring down your clansmen like a 

cloud ; — 
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' 

blood, — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to 

sheath ; 
Come, Hopetoun, feared on fields of 

death ; 
Come, Clerk, and give your bugle 

breath : 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Come, Wemyss, who modest merit 

aids ; 
Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny 

shades ; 
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids : 
Carle, now the King 's come 1 

" Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true. 

Girt with the sword that Minden knew; 

We have o'er few such lairds as you — 

Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" King Arthur 's grown a common crier. 
He 's heard in Fife and far Cantire, — 
' Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire ! ' 
Carle, now the King 's come I " 



466 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



" Saint Abb roars out, ' I see him pass, 
Between Tantallon and the Bass ! ' 
Carlton, get out your keeking-glass, 
Carle, now the King 's come ! " 

The Carline stopped ; and, sure I am, 
For very glee had ta'en a dwam, 
But Oman helped her to a dram. — 
Cogie, now the King 's come ! 

CHORUS. 

Cogie, now the King 's come ! 
Cogie, now the King 's come ! 
1 'se be fou', and ye 's be toom, 
Cogie, now the King 's come ! 

CARLE, NOW THE KING'S 
COME. 

PART SECOND. 

A Hawick gill of mountain dew 
Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, 
It minded her of Waterloo — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

Again I heard her summons swell, 
For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 
It drowned Saint Giles's jowing bell — 
Carle, now the King's come ! 

" My trusty Provost, tried and tight. 
Stand forward for the Good Town's 

right. 
There 's waur than you been made a 

knight, — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

*' My reverend Clergy, look ye say 
The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e. 
And warstle for a sunny day — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" My Doctors, look that you agree, 
Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

*' Come forth each sturdy Burgher's 

bairn, 
" That dints on wood or clanks on airn, 
That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Come forward with the Blanket Blue, 
Your sires were loyal men and true. 
As Scotland's foemen oft might rue — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 



" Scots downa loup, and rin and rave, 
We 're steady folks and something 

grave. 
We '11 keep the causeway firm and 

brave — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 
" Sir Thomas, thunder from your rock. 
Till Pentland dinnels wi' the shock. 
And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke—' 

Carle, now the King 's come 1 
" Melville, bring out yourbands of blue, 
A' Louden lads, baith stout and true, 
With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, 

too — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 
" And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
Compelled the vanquish'd Despot's 

praise, 
Rank out — rank out — my gallant 

Grays — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Cock of the North, my Huntly bra' 
Where are you with the Forty-twa ? 
Ah ! wae 's my heart that ye 're awa' — * 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" But yonder come my canty Celts, 
With durk and pistols at their belts, 
Thank God, we 've still some plaids 
and kilts — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

"Lord, how the pibrochs groan and 

yell ! 
Macdonnell 's ta'en the field himsell, 
Macleod comes branking o'er the fell — 
Carle, now the King 's come I 

"Bend up your bow each Archer spark, 

For you 're to guard him light and dark ; 

Faith, lads, for ance ye 've hit the 

mark — 

Carle, now the King 's come 1 

" Young Errol, take the sword of state. 
The Sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ; 
Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the 
gate — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Kind cummer, Leith, ye 've been 

mis-set. 
But dinna be upon the fret, — 
Ye 's hae the handsel of him yet. 
Carle, now the King 's come i 



EPITA PH. 



467 



•• My daughters, come with een sae 

bUie, 
Your garlands weave, your blossoms 

strew ; 
He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you — 

Carle, now the King 's come ! 
•' What shall we do for the propine, — 
We used to offer something fine. 
But ne'er a groat 's in pouch of mine — 

Carle, now the King 's come 1 

" Deil care, — for that I 'se never start. 
We '11 welcome him with Highland 

heart ; 
Whate'er we have he 's get a part — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" I '11 show him mason-work this day — 
Nane of your bricks of Babel clay. 
But towers shall stand till Time 's 
away — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" I '11 show him wit, I Ml show him lair. 
And gallant lads and lasses fair, 
And what wad kind heart wish for 
mair ? — 
Carle, now the King 's come ! 

" Step out, Sir John, of projects rife, 
Come win the thanks of an auld wife. 
And bring him health and length of life — 
Carle, now the King 's come 1 " 

THE RESOLVE. 

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH 
POEM. 

[1S09.J 

My wayward fate I needs must plain, 

Though bootless be the theme ; 
I loved, and was beloved again, 

Yet all was but a dream : 
For, as her love was quickly got, 

So it was quickly gone ; 
No more I '11 bask in flame so hot, 

But coldly dwell alone. 

Not maid more bright than maid was 
e'er 

My fancy shall beguile. 
By flattering word, or feigned tear, 

By gesture, look, or smile : 
No more I '11 call the shaft fair shot, 

Till it has fairly flown. 
Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — 

I '11 rather freeze alone. 



Each ambushed Cupid T '11 defy, 

In cheek, or chin, or brow, 
And deem the glance of woman's eye 

As weak as woman's vow : 
I '11 lightly hold the lady's heait, 

That is but lightly won ; 
I '11 steel my breast to beauty's art, 

And learn to live alone. 

The flaunting torch soon blazes out, 

The diamond's ray abides ; 
The flame its glory hurls about, 

The gem its lustre hides ; 
Such gem I fondly deemed was mine, 

And glowed a diamond stone, 
But, since each eye may see it shine, 

I '11 darking dwell alone. 

No waking dreams shall tinge my 
thought 

With dyes so bright and vain, 
No silken net, so slightly wrought, 

Shall tangle me again : 
No more I '11 pay so dear for wit, 

I '11 live upon mine own. 
Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — • 

I '11 rather dwell alone. 

And thus I '11 hush my heart to rest, — 

" Thy loving labor 's lost : 
Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, 

To be so strangely crost : 
The widowed turtles mateless die. 

The phoenix is but one ; 
They seek no loves — no more will I — 

I '11 rather dwell alone." 

EPITAPH. 

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN LICH- 
FIELD CATEHDRAL, AT THE BURIAL- 
PLACE OF THE FAMILY OF MISS 
SEWARD. 

Amid these aisles, where once his pre- 
cepts showed 

The heavenward pathway which in life 
he trode. 

This simple tablet marks a Father's 
bier. 

And those he loved in life in death are 
near; 

For him, for them, a Daughter bade it 
rise. 

Memorial of domestic charities. 

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the 
marble spread. 



|68 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



la female grace the willow droops her 
head ; 

Why on her branches, silent and un- 
strung, 

The minstrel harp is emblematic hung : 

What poet's voice is smothered here in 
dust 

Till waked to join the chorus of the 
just, — 

Lo ! one brief line an answer sad sup- 
plies, 

Honored, beloved, and mourned, here 
Seward lies ! 

Her worth, her warmth of heart, let 
friendship say, — 

Go seek her genius in her living lay. 



PROLOGUE 



TO 



MISS baillie's play 

FAMILY LEGEND. 



T IS sweet to hear expiring Summer's 

sigh. 
Through forests tinged with russet, wail 

and die ; 
T is sweet and sad the latest notes to 

hear 
Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign 

strand. 
We list the legends of our native land, 
Linked as they come with every tender 

tie, 
Memorials dear of youth and infancy. 

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Cale- 

don. 
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy 

son. 
Whether on India's burning coasts he 

toil. 
Or till Arcadia's winter-fettered soil. 
He hears with throbbing heart and 

moistened eyes. 
And, as he hears, what dear illusions 

rise ! 
It opens on his soul his native dell, 



The woods wild waving, and the waters' 

swell ; 
Tradition's theme, the tower that 

threats the plain, 
The mossy cairn that hides the hero 

slain : 
The cot beneath whose simple porch 

were told, 
By gray-haired patriarch, the tales of 

old : 
The infant group that hushed their 

sports the while. 
And the dear maid who listened with a 

smile. 
The wanderer, while the vision warmss 

his brain. 
Is denizen of Scotland once again. 

Are such keen feelings to the crowd 

confined. 
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted 

mind? 
O no ! For She, within whose mighty 

page 
Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and 

rage, 
Has felt the wizard influence they m- 

spire. 
And to your own traditions tuned her 

lyre. 
Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has 

raised the sail 
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this 

evening's tale. 
The plaided boatman, resting on his onr, 
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'ijr 

to-night 
Our humble stage shall offer to your 

sight ; 
Proudly preferred that first our efforts 

give 
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe 

and live; 
More proudly yet, should Caledon ap-- 

prove 
The filial token of a Daughter's love. 



EPILOGUE TO THE APPEAL. 

SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS, FEB. l6, 1818. 

A CAT of yore iox else old ^sop lied) 
Was changed into a fair and blooming bride, 
But spied a mouse upon her marriage-day, 
^^V'got ber spouse, and seized upon her prey ; 



EPILOGUE. 



469 



Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, 
Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa. 
His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose. 
He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. 
Such are the fruits of our dramatic labor 
Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbor. 
Yes, times are changed ; for, in your father's age, 
The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; 
However high advanced by future fate, 

There stands the bench {points to the Pit) that first received their weight. 
The future legal sage 't was ours to see, 
Doom though unwigged, and plead without a fee. 

But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, 
Instead of lawyers comes the law herself; 
Tremendous neighbor, on our right she dwells, 
Builds high her towe'-s and excavates her cells ; 
While on the left she agitates the town 
With the tempestuous question. Up or down? 
'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we. 
Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. 
But, soft 1 who lives at Rome the Pope must flatter. 
And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. 
Then — just farewell ! We wait with serious aw© 
Till your applause or censure gives the law. 
Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye, 
We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and Jury. 



EPILOGUE 

to the drama founded on " st. ro- 
nan's well." 

That 's right, friend — drive the gait- 
lings back, 
And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; 
Your Embro' bairns are grown a pack, 

Sae proud and saucy. 
They scarce will let an auld wife walk 

Upon your causey. 

I 've seen the day they would been 

scaured, 
W?' the Tolbooth or wi' the Guard, 
Or maybe wud hae some regard 

For Jamie Laing — 
The Water-hole was right weel wared 

On sic a gang. 

But whar 's the gude Tolbooth gane 

now ? 
Whar 's the auld Claught, wi' red and 

blue ? 
Whar's Jamie Laing? and whar's John 
Doo? ' 
And whar 's the Weigh-house ? 
P«iil hae 't I see but what is new, 
Except the Playhouse t 



Yoursells are changed frae head *o heel, 
There 's some that gar the causewa;? 

reel 
With clashing hufe and rattling wheel, 

And horses canterin', 
Wha's fathers daundered harae as weel 

Wi' lass and lantern. 

Mysell being in the public line, 

I look for howfs I kenned lang syne, 

Whar gentles used to drink gude wine. 

And eat cheap dinners ; 
But deil a soul gangs there to dine, 

Of saints or sinners ! 

Fortune's and Hunter's gane, alas ! 
And Bayle's is lost in empty space ; 
And now if folk would splice a brace. 

Or crack a bottle, 
They gang to a new-fangled place 

They ca' a Hottle. 

The Deevil hottle them for Meg ! 
They are sae greedy and sae gleg, 
That if ye 're served but wi' an egg 

(And that 's puir picking). 
In comes a chiel and makes a leg. 

And charges chicken 1 



47° 



hll^CELLANEOUS t'OEMS. 



" And wha may ye be," gin ye speer, 
"That brings your auld-warld clavers 

here ? " 
Troth, if there 's onybody near 

That kens the roads, 
I '11 baud ye Burgundy to beer, 

He kens Meg Dodds. 

I came a piece frae west o' Currie ; 
And, since I see you 're in a hurry, 
Your patience I '11 nae langer worry, 

But be sae crouse 
As speak a word for ane Will Murray, 

That keeps this house. 

Plays are auld-fashioned things, in truth, 
And ye've seen wonders mair uncouth ; 
Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth. 



Or want of dramock, 
Although they speak but wi' their 
mouth. 
Not wi' their staraock. 

But ye take care of a' folk's pantry ; 
And surely to hae stooden sentry 
Ower this big house (that 's far frae 
rent-free), 

For a lone sister. 
Is claims as gude 's to be a ventri — 

How 'st ca'd — loquister. 

Weel, sirs, gude'en, and have a care. 
The bairns mak fun o' Meg nae mair; 
For gin they do, she tells you fair, 

And without failzie, 
As sure as ever ye sit there, 

She '11 tell the Bailie. 



EPILOGUE. 
The sages — for authority pray look 
Seneca's morals, or the copy-book — 
The sages, to disparage woman's power, 
Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ; 
I cannot tell, — I 've small philosophy, — 
Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die. 
But, like the violet, when decayed in bloom. 
Survives through many a year in rich perfume. 
Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, 
A third wanes fast, since Mary filled the throne. 
Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day, 
'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay : 
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you boast. 
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost ? 
O'er Mary's memory the learned quarrel, 
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel. 
Time's echo, old Tradition, makes her name 
The constant burden of his falt'ring theme ; 
In each old hall his gray-haired heralds tell 
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell. 
And show — my fingers tingle at the thought — 
The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen wrought. 
In vain did fate bestow a double dower 
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and power, 
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends, — 
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends. 
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst. 
They rose in ill from bad to worse and worst. 
In spite of errors, — I dare not say more. 
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore, 
In spite of all, however humors vary. 
There is a talisman in that word Mary, 
That unto Scottish bosoms all and some 
Is found the genuine open sesanium ! 



MR. KEMDLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 



471 



In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, 

It charms alike the castle and the hovel ; 

Even you — forgive me — who, demure and shy, 

Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly, 

Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign 

The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. 



MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL 
ADDRESS, 

ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH 
STAGE. 

As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's 

sound. 
Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws 

the ground ; 
Disdains the ease his generous lord 

assigns, 
And longs to rush on the embattled 

lines. 
So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
Can scarce sustain to think our parting 

near ; 
To think my scenic hour forever past. 
And that those valued plaudits are my 

last. 
Why should we part, while still some 

powers remain. 
That in your service strive not yet in 

vain? 
Cannot high zeal the strength of youth 

supply, 
And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; 
And all the wrongs of age remain sub- 
dued 
Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? 
Ah, no ! the taper wearing to its close 
Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; 
But all too soon the transient gleam is 

past. 
It cannot be renewed, and will not last ; 
Even duty, zeal, and gratitude can 

wage 
But short-lived conflict with the frosts 

of age. 
Yes ! It were poor, remembering what 

I was. 
To live a pensioner on your applause, 
To drain the dregs of your endurance 

dry. 
And take, as alms, the praise I once 

could buy ; 
Till every sneering youth around in- 
quires. 



" Is this the man who once could please 

our sires ? " 
And scorn assumes compassion's doubt- 
ful mien, 
To warn me off from the encumbered 

scene. 
This must not be ; — and higher duties 

crave 
Some space between the theatre and the 

grave. 
That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 
My life's brief act in public service 

flown, 
The last, the closing scene, must be my 

own. 

Here, then, adieu ! while yet some 

well-graced parts 
May fix an ancient favorite in your 

hearts, 
Not quite to be forgotten, even when 
You look on better actors, younger 

men: 
And if your bosoms own this kindly 

debt 
Of old remembrance, how shall mine 

forget — 
O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
In anxious hope, how oft returned with 

fame ! 
How oft around your circle this weak 

hand 
Has waved immortal Shakespeare's 

magic wand. 
Till the full burst of inspiration came. 
And I have felt, and you have fanned 

the flame ! 
By mem'ry treasured, while her reign 

endures. 
Those hours must live — and all their 

charms are yours. 
O favored Land ! renowned for arts 

and arms. 
For manly talent, and for female charms. 
Could this full bosom prompt the sink' 

ing line, 



472 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



What fervent benedictions now were 

thine ! 
But my last part is i^layed, my knell is 

rung, 
When e'en your praise falls faltering 

from my tongue ; 
And all that you can hear, or I can tell 
Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, and 

FARE YOU WELL. 

LINES, 

WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. 

When the lone pilgrim views afar 
The shrine that is his guiding star, 
With awe his footsteps print the 

road 
Which the loved saint of yore has 

trod. 
As near he draws, and yet more 

near, 
His dim eye sparkles with a tear ; 
The Gothic fane's unwonted show. 
The choral hymn, the taper's glow. 
Oppress his soul ; while they delight 
And chasten rapture with affright. 
No longer dare he think his toil 
Can merit aught his patron's smile ; 
Too light appears the distant way, 
The chilly eve, the sultry day — 
All these endured no favor claim, 
But murmuring forth the sainted name, 
He lays his little offering down, 
And only deprecates a frown. 

We too, who ply the Thespian art. 
Oft feel such bodings of the heart, 
And, when our utmost powers are 

strained, 
Dare hardly hope your favor gained. 
She, who from sister climes has sought 
The ancient land where Wallace 

fought, — 
Land long renowned for arms and 

arts. 
And conquering eyes and dauntless 

hearts, — 
She, as the flutterings here avow. 
Feels all the pilgrim's terrors tioiv ; 
Yet sure on Caledonian plain 
The stranger never sued in vain. 
'T is yours the hospitable task 
To give the applause she dare not ask ; 
And they who bid the pilgrim speed. 
The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPI- 

NESS; 

OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLI- 
MAUN. 



O FOR aglance of that gay Muse's eye. 
That liglitened on Bandello's laughin;? 

tale. 
And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and 

sly, 
When Giam Battista bade her vision 

hail ! — 
Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail 
Given by the natives of that land ca- 
norous ; 
Italian license loves to leap the pale. 
We Britons have the fear of shame 

before us, 
And, if not wise in mirth, at least must 
be decorous. 



In the far eastern clime, no great while 

since, 
Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty 

prince, 
Whose eyes, as oft as they performed 

their round, 
Beheld all others fixed upon the ground ; 
Whose ears received the same unvaried 

phrase, 
" Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he 

obeys ! " 
All have their tastes, — this may the 

fancy strike 
Of such grave folks as pomp and 

grandeur like ; 
For me, I love the honest heart and 

warm 
Of Monarch who can amble round his 

farm. 
Or, when the toil of state no more 

annoys. 
In chimney -comer seek domestic 

joys. — 
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, 
Exchanging with his subjects glance 

and glass ; 
In fitting time can, gayest of the gay. 
Keep up the jest and mingle in th* 

lay. — 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 



473 



Such Monarchs best our free-born 

humors suit. 
But Despots must be stately, stern, 

and mute. 



This SoHmaun, Serendib had in 
sway, — 

And where 's Serendib ? may some 
critic say, — 

Good lack, mine honest friend, consult 
the chart, 

Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! 

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, may- 
hap, 

The isle laid down in Captain Sinbad's 
map, — 

Famed mariner ! whose merciless nar- 
rations 

Drove every friend and kinsman out 
of patience. 

Till, fain to find a guest who thought 
them shorter. 

He deigned to tell them over to a 
porter, — 

The last edition see, by Long and Co., 

Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in 
the Row. 



Serendib found, deem not my tale a 
fiction, — 

This Sultaun, whether lacking con- 
tradiction, 

(A sort of stimulant which hath its 
uses. 

To raise the spirits and reform the 
juices, 

— Sovereign specific for all sorts of 
cures 

In my wife's practice, and perhaps in 
yours,) 

The Sultaun lacking this same whole- 
some bitter. 

Or cordial smooth for prince's palate 
fitter, — 

Or if some MoUah had hag-rid his 
dreams 

With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild 
themes 

Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, 

I wot not, — but the Sultaun never 
laughed, 



Scarce ate or drank, and took a melan- 
choly 

That scorned all remedy profane or 
holy ; 

In his long list of melancholies, mad. 

Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none 
so bad. 



Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware 

and tried. 
As e'er scrawled jargon in a darkened 

room ; 
With heedful glance the Sultaun's 

tongue they eyed. 
Peeped in his bath, and God knows 

where beside. 
And then in solemn accent spoke their 

doom, 
" His majesty is very far from well." 
Then each to work with his specific 

fell_ : 
The Hakim Ibrahim instafiterhxow^t 
His unguent Mahazzim alZerdukkaut, 
While Roompot, a practitioner more 

wily. 
Relied on his Munaskif al fiUfily. 
More and yet more in deep array ap- 
pear. 
And some the front assail, and some 

the rear ; 
Their remedies to reinforce and vary, 
Came surgeon eke, and eke apothe- 
cary ; 
Till the tired Monarch, though of words 

grown chary, 
Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless 

labor, 
Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. 
There lacked, I promise you, no longer 

speeches, 
To rid the palace of those learned 

leeches. 



Then was the council called, — by 

their advice, 
(They deemed the matter ticklish all, 

and nice. 
And sought to shift it off from their 

own shoulders,) 
Tartars and couriers in all speed were 

sent. 
To call a sort of Eastern Parliament 



474 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Of feudatory chieftains and free- 
holders, — 

Such have the Persians at this very 
day, 

My gallant Malcolm calls them cour- 
oultai ; — 

I 'm not prepared to show in this slight 
song 

That to Serendib the same forms be- 
long, — 

E'en let the learned go search, and tell 
me if I 'm wrong. 



The Omrahs, each with hand on scym- 

itar, 
Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice 

for war, — 
"The sabre of the Sultaun in its 

sheath 
Too long has slept, nor owned the 

work of death ; 
Let the Tambourgi bid his signal 

rattle. 
Bang the loud gong, and raise the 

shout of battle ! 
This dreary cloud that dims our sov- 
ereign's day 
Shall from his kindled bosom flit 

away, 
When the bold Lootie wheels his 

courser round, 
And the armed elephant shall shake 

the ground. 
Each noble pants to own the glorious 

summons, — 
And for the charges, — Lo ! your faith- 
ful Commons ! " 
The Riots who attended in their 

places 
(Serendib language calls a farmer 

Riot) 
Looked ruefully in one another's 

faces. 
From this oration auguring much dis- 
quiet. 
Double assessment, forage, and free 

quarters ; 
And fearing these as Chinamen the 

Tartars, 
Or as the whiskered vermin fear the 

mousers. 
Each fumbled in the pocket of his 

trousers. 



And next came forth the reverend 

Convocation, 
Bald heads, white beards, and many 

a turban green, 
Imaum and MoUah there of every 

station, 
Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were 

seen. 
Their votes were various, — some 

advised a Mosque 
With fitting revenue should be 

erected, 
With seemly gardens and with gay 

Kiosque, 
To recreate a band of priests se- 
lected ; 
Others opined that through the realms 

a dole 
Be made to holy men, whose prayers 

might profit 
The Sultaun 's weal in body and in 

soul. 
But their long-headed chief, the 

Sheik Ul-Sofit, 
More closely touched the point: — 

" Thy studious mood," 
Quoth he, " O Prince ! hath thickened 

all thy blood, 
And dulled thy brain with labor beyond 

measure ; 
Wherefore relax a space and take thy 

pleasure ; 
And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy 

treasure ; 
From all t*ie cares of state, my Liege, 

enlarge thee, 
And leave the burden to thy faithful 

clergy." 

IX. 

These counsels sage availed not a whit, 
And so the patient (as is not un- 
common 

Where grave physicians lose their time 
and wit) 
Resolved to take advice of an old 
woman ; 

His mother she, a dame who once was 
beauteous, 

And still was called so by each subject 
duteous. 

Now, whether Fatima was witch in 
earnest. 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 



475 



Or«snly made believe, I cannot say, — 
But she professed to cure disease the 
sternest, 
By dint of magic amulet or lay ; 
And, when all other skill in vain was 

shown, 
She deemed it fitting time to use her 
own. 

X. 

*^ Sympatkia -magica hath wonders 
done," 

(Thus did old Fatiraa bespeak her 
son,) 

"It works upon the fibres and the 
pores. 

And thus, insensibly, our health re- 
stores, 

And it must help us here. — Thou must 
endure 

The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. 

Search land and sea, and get, where'er 
you can. 

The inmost vesture of a happy man, 

I mean his shirt, my son ; which, taken 
warm 

And fresh from off his back, shall chase 
your harm, 

Bid every current of your veins rejoice, 

And your dull heart leap light as shep- 
herd-boy's." 

Such was the counsel from his mother 
came ; — 

I know not if she had some under- 
game. 

As Doctors have, who bid their patients 
roam 

And live abroad, when sure to die at 
home ; 

Or if she thought that, somehow or 
another, 

Queen-Regent sounded better than 
Queen-Mother ; 

But, says the Chronicle (who will go 
look it), 

That such was her advice, — the Sultaun 
took it. 

XI. 

All are on board — the Sultaun and his 
train. 

In gilded galley prompt to plough the 
main. 
The old Rais was the first who ques- 
tioned, "Whither?" 



They paused — "Arabia," thought the 

pensive Prince, 
" Was called The Happy many ages 

since, — 
For Mokha, Rais." — And they came 

safely thither. 
But not in Araby, with all her balm, 
Not where Judea weeps beneath her 

palm, 
Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian 

waste. 
Could there the step of Happiness be 

traced. 
One Copt alone professed to have seen 

her smile. 
When Bruce his goblet filled at infant 

Nile: 
She blessed the dauntless traveller as 

he quaffed. 
But vanished from him with the ended 

draught. 



" Enough of turbans," said the weary 

King,_ 
"These dolimans of ours are not the 

thing ; 
Try we the Giaours, these men of coat 

and cap, I 
Incline to think some of them must be 

happy ; 
At least, they have as fair a cause as 

any can, 
They drink good wine and keep no 

Ramazan. 
Then northward, ho!" — The vessel 

cuts the sea, 
And fair Italia lies upon her lee. 
But fair Italia, she who once un- 
furled 
Her eagle-banners o'er a conquered 

world, 
Long from her throne of domination 

tumbled. 
Lay, by her quondam vassals sorely 

humbled ; 
The Pope himself looked pensive, pale, 

and lean. 
And was not half the man he once had 

been. 
" While these the priest and those the 

noble fleeces, 
Our poor old boot," they said, "is torn 

to pieces. 



476 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Its tops the vengeful claws of Austria 

feel, 
And the Great Devil is rending toe and 

heel. 
If happiness you seek, to tell you 

truly, 
We think she dwells with one Giovanni 

BuHi ; 
A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, 
Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; 
By land or ocean never strikes his 

flag,- 
And then — a perfect walking money- 
bag." 
Off set our Prince to seek John Bull's 

abode. 
But first took France, — it lay upon the 

road. 



Monsieur Baboon, after much late com- 
motion. 

Was agitated like a settling ocean, 

Quite out of sorts, and could not tell 
what ailed him, 

Only the glory of his house had failed 
him ; 

Besides, some tumors on his noddle 
biding. 

Gave indication of a recent hiding. 

Our Prince, though Sultauns of such 
things are heedless, 

Thought it a thing indelicate and need- 
less 
To ask, if at that moment he was 
happy. 

And Monsieur, seeing that he was 
comme il _faut, a 

Loud voice mustered up, for "Vive le 
Roi ! " 
Then whispered, " Ave you any news 
of Nappy? " 

The Sultaun answered him with a cross 
question, — 
" Pray, can you tell me aught of one 

John Bull, 
That dwells somewhere beyond your 
herring-pool?" 

The query seemed of diffic.idt diges- 
tion. 

The party shrugged and grinned, and 
took his snuff, 

And found his whole good-breeding 
scarce enough. 



Twitching his visage into a» many 

puckers 
As damsels wont to put into their 

tuckers 
(Ere liberal Fashion damned both lace 

and lawn, 
And bade the veil of modesty be 

drawn), 
Replied the Frenchman, after a brief 

pause, 
"Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him — 

Yes, I vas — 
I vas remember dat, von year or two, 
I saw him at von place called Vaterloo — 
Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment batiu, 
Dat is for Englishmen, — m'entendez- 

vous ? 
But den he had wit him one damn son- 
gun. 
Rogue I no like, — dey call him Velling- 

ton." 
Monsieur's politeness could nothide his 

fret. 
So Solimaun took leave, and cross'd the 

strait. 



John Bull was in his very worst of 

moods. 
Raving of sterile farms and unsold 

goods ; 
His sugar-loaves and bales about he 

threw. 
And on his counter beat the Devil's 

tattoo. 
His wars were ended, and the victory 

won. 
But then, 't was reckoning-day with 

honest John ; 
And authors vouch, 't was still this 

Worthy's way, 
" Never to grumble till he came to pay ; 
And then he always thinks, his temper 's 

such. 
The work too little, and the pay too 

much." 
Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and 

hearty. 
That when his mortal foe was on the 

floor, 
And past the power to harm his quiet 

more, 



THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS. 



477 



Poor John had wellnigh wept for 

Bonaparte ! 
Such was the wight whom Solimaun 

salamed, — 
"And who are you," John answered, 

"and be d— d?" 



"A stranger, come to see the happiest 
man — 

So, signior, all avouch — in Frangis- 
tan." 

" Happy? my tenants breaking on my 
hand ; 

Unstocked my pastures, and untilled my 
land ; 

Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and 
moths 

The sole consumers of my good broad- 
cloths, — 

Happy ? — Why, cursed war and rack- 
ing tax 

Have left us scarcely raiment to our 
backs." — 

" In that case, signior, I may take my 
leave : 

I came to ask a favor — but I 
grieve — " 

" Favor ? " said John, and eyed the 
Sultaun hard, 

" It 's my belief you came to break the 
yard ! — 

But, stay, you look like some poor 
foreign sinner, — 

Take that to buy yourself a shirt and 
dinner." — 

With that he chucked a guinea at his 
head ; 

But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, 

" Permit me, sir, your bounty to de- 
cline ; 

A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. 

Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you 
well." — 

" Kiss and be d— d," quoth John, " and 
go to hell ! " 



Next door to John there dwelt his sis- 
ter Peg, 
Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg 
When the blithe bagpipe blew, — but 
soberer now, 



She doucely span her flax and milked 
her cow. 

And whereas erst she was a needy slat- 
tern, 

Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a 
pattern. 

Yet once a month her house was partly 
swept, 

And once a week a plenteous board 
she kept. 

And whereas, eke, the vixen used her 
claws 
And teeth, of yore, on slender provo- 
cation, 

She now was grown amenable to laws, 
A quiet soul as any in the nation ; 

The sole remembrance of her warlike joys 

Was in old songs she sang to please her 
boys. 

John Bull, whom, in their years of 
early strife, 

She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life. 

Now found the woman, as he said, a 
neighbor, 

Who looked to the main chance, de- 
clined no labor, 

Loved a long grace, and spoke a north- 
ern jargon, 

And was d — d close in making of a 
bargain. 



The Sultaun entered, and he made his 
leg, 

And with decorum courtseyed Sister 
Peg. 

(She loved a book, and knew a thing or 
two, 

And guessed at once with whom she 
had to do.) 

She bade him " Sit into the fire," and 
took 

Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from 
the nook ; 

Asked him " about the news from East- 
ern parts : 

And of her absent baims, puir High- 
land hearts ! 

If peace brought down the price of tea 
and pepper, 

And if the nittnugs were grown ony 
cheaper ; — 

Were there nae speerings of our Mungo 
Park,— 



478 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants the 
sark ? 

If ye wad buy a web o'auld wife's spin- 
ning, 

I '11 warrant ye it 's a weel-wearing 
linen." 

XIX. 

Then up got Peg, and round the house 

'gan scuttle 
lu search of goods her customer to 

nail. 
Until the Sultan strained his princely 

throttle. 
And holloed, — " Ma'am, that is not 

what I ail. 
Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this 

snug glen ?" — 
" Happy ? " said Peg. " What fof d' ye 

want to ken ? 
Besides, just think upon this by-gane 

year, 
Grain wadna pay the yoking of the 

pleugh." — 
"What say you to the present?" — 

" Meal 's sae dear. 
To mak their brose my bairns have 

scarce aneugh." — 
" The Devil take the shirt," said Soli- 
maun, 
" I think my quest will end as it be- 
gan. — 
" Farewell, ma'am ; nay, no ceremony, 

I beg — " 
" Ye '11 no be for the linen then ? " said 

Peg. 

XX. 

Now for the land of verdant Erin, 
The Sultaun's royal bark is steering. 
The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy 

dwells. 
The cousin of John Bull, as storytells. 
For a long space had John, with words 

of thunder. 
Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept 

Paddy under, 
Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogged 

unduly, 
Had gotten somewhat restive and un- 
ruly. 
Hard was his lot and lodging, you '11 

allow, 
A wigwam that would hardly serve a 

sow ; 



His landlord, and of middle-men two 
brace. 

Had screwed his rent up to the starving- 
place ; 

His garment was a top-coat, and an old 
one. 

His meal was a potato, and a cold one ; 

But still for fun or frolic, and all that. 

In the round world was not the match 
of Pat. 

XXI. 

The Sultaun saw him on a holiday. 
Which is with Paddy still a jolly day ; 
When mass is ended, and his load oi 

sins 
Confessed, and Mother Church hath 

from her bins 
Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit. 
Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and 

spirit 1 
To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, 
And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. 
" By Mahomet," said Sultaun Soli- 
maun, 
" That ragged fellow is our very man 1 
Rush in and seize him — do not do him 

hurt. 
But, will he nill he, let me have his 
shirt." 

XXII. 

Shilela their plan was wellnigh after 

balking, 
(Much less provocation will set it a 

walking,) 
But the odds that foiled Hercules foiled 

Paddy Whack ; 
They seized, and they floored, and they 

stripped him — Alack ! 
Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not — a 

shirt to his back ! ! ! 
And the King, disappointed, with sor- 
row and shame. 
Went back to Serendib as sad as he 

came. 

LINES, 

ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE, 
THE CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 

Of yore, in old England, it was not 

thought good 
To carry two visages under one hood ; 
What should folk say \.o you ? who have 

faces such plenty, 



INSCRIPTION. 



479 



That from under one hood, you last 

night showed us twenty ! 
Stand forth, arch-deceiver, and tell us 

in truth, 
Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in 

youth ? 
Man, woman, or child, — a dog or a 

mouse ? 
Or are you, at once, each live thing in 

the house ? 
Each live thing, did I ask? — each dead 

implement, too, 
A work-shop in your person, — saw, 

chisel, and screw ! 
Above all, are you one individual? I 

know 
You must be at least Alexandre and Co. 
But I think you 're a troop — an assem- 
blage — a mob. 
And that I, as the Sheriff, should take 

up the job ; 
And instead of rehearsing your wonders 

in verse. 
Must read you the Riot Act, and bid 

you disperse, 

^ VERSES, 

ON THE GRAND-DUKE NICHOLAS OF 
. RUSSIA. 

God protect brave Alexander, 
Heaven defend the noble Czar, 
Mighty Russia's high Commander, 
First in Europe's banded war ; 
For the realms he did deliver 
From the tyrant overthrown. 
Thou, of every good the Giver, 
Grant him long to bless his own ! 
Bless him, 'mid his land's disaster, 
For her rights who battled brave. 
Of the land of foemen master, 
Bless him who their wrongs forgave. 
O'er his just resentment victor, 
Victor over Europe's foes. 
Late and long supreme director. 
Grant in peace his reign may close. 
Hail ! then, hail ! ilhistrious Stranger ! 
Welcome to our mountain strand ; 
Mutual interests, hopes, and danger 
Link us with thy native land. 
Freemen's force, or false beguiling, 
Shall that union ne'er divide, 
Hand in hand while peace is smiling, 
And in battle side by side. 



FROM THE FRENCH. 
It chanced that Cupid on a season, 

By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, 
But could not settle whether Reason 

Or Folly should partake his bed. 

What does he then ? — Upon my life, 
'T was bad example for a deity, — 

He takes me Reason for a wife. 
And Folly for his hours of gayety. 

Though thus he dealt in petty treason, 
He loved them both in equal meas- 
ure ; 

Fidelity was born of Reason, 
And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. 

EPITAPH 

ON MRS. ERSKINE. 
[1819.] 

Plain, as her native dignity of mind. 
Arise the tomb of her we have resigned ; 
Unflawed and stainless be the marble 

scroll. 
Emblem of lovely form, and candid 

soul. 
But, oh ! what symbol may avail to tell 
The kindness, wit, and sense we loved 

so well ! 
What sculpture show the broken ties of 

life. 
Here buried with the parent, friend, and 

wife ! 
Or on the tablet stamp each title dear, 
By which thine urn, Euphemia, claims 

the tear ! 
Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to 

assume 
Patience in anguish, hope beyond the 

tomb, 
Resigned, though sad, this votive verse 

shall flow, 
And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. 

INSCRIPTION, 

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV, 
GEORGE SCOTT. 

To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale 
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. 
Art thou a parent? Reverence this bier. 
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried 

here. 
Art thou a youth, prepared on life to 

start. 



48o 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



With opening talents and a generous 

heart, 
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all 

thine own ? 
Lo ! here their end, — a monumental 

stone. 
But let submission tame each sorrowing 

thought, 
H^^aven crowned its champion ere the 

fight was fought. 

PHAROS LOQUITUR. 
Far in the bosom of the deep. 
O'er these wild shelves my watch I keep; 
A ruddy gem of changeful light, 
Bound on the dusky brow of night, 
I'he seaman bids my lustre hail. 
And scorns to strike his timorous sail. 

THE POACHER. 

Welcome, grave stranger, to our green 

retreats, 
Where health with exercise and freedom 

meets ! 
Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosoph- 
ic plan 
By Nature's limits metes the rights of 

man ; 
Generous as he, who now for freedom 

bawls. 
Now gives full value for true Indian 

shawls ; 
O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe 

who flings, 
Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies 

kings. 
Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive 

mind 
Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for 

mankind ; 
Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin 

sees. 
That balks the snare, yet battens on 

the cheese ; 
Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead 

of awe. 
Our buckskinned justices expound the 

law. 
Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the 

pain, 
And for the netted partridge noose the 

swain ; 
And thy vindictive arm would fain have 

broke 



The last light fetter of the feudal yoke, 

To give the denizens of wood and wild, 

Nature's free race, to each her free-born 
child. 

Hence hast thou marked, with grief, fair 
London's race. 

Mocked with the boon of one poor Eas- 
ter chase. 

And longed to send them forth as free 
as when 

Poured o'er Chantillythe Parisian train. 

When musket, pistol, blunderbuss com- 
bined. 

And scarce the field-pieces were left 
behind ! 

A squadron's charge each leveret's 
heart dismayed. 

On every covey fired a bold brigade : 

La Douce Humanite approved the 
sport, 

For great the alarm indeed, yet small 
the hurt. 

Shouts patriotic solemnized the day, 

And Seine re-echoed Vive la LiberU ! 

But mad Ciiojyeu, meek Monsietircigam, 

With some few added links resumes his 
chain. 

Then, since such scenes to France no 
more are known. 

Come, view with me ahero of thine own! 

One whose free actions vindicate the 
cause 

Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. 

Seek we yon glades, where the proud 

oak o'ertops 
Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel 

copse, 
Leaving between deserted isles of land, 
Where stunted heath is patched with 

ruddy sand ; 
And lonely on the waste the yew is . 

seen, I 

Or straggling hollies spread a brighter f 

green. 
Here, little worn, and winding dark and 

steep, J 

Our scarce marked path descends yon ■ 

dingle deep : * 

Follow, — but heedful, cautious of a 

trip, — 
In earthly mire philosophy may slip. 
Step slow and wary o'er that swampy 

stream. 



THE POACHER. 



481 



Till, guided by the charcoal's smother- 
ing steam, 

We reach the frail yet barricaded door 

Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor ; 

No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke 
receives. 

The walls are wattles, and the covering 
leaves ; 

For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, 

Rise in the progress of one night and 
day, 

(Though placed where still the Conquer- 
or's bests o'erawe. 

And his son's stirrup shines the badge 
of law,) 

The builder claims the unenviable boon, 

To tenant dwelling, framed as slight 
and soon 

As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native 
frore 

On the bleak coast of frost-barred Lab- 
rador. 

Approach, and through theunlatticed 

window peep, — 
Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is 

asleep ; 
Sunk 'mid yon sordid blankets, till the 

sun 
Stoop to the west the plunderer's toils 

are done; 
Loaded and primed, and prompt for 

desperate hand. 
Rifle and fowling-piece beside him 

stand. 
While round the hut are in disorder laid 
The tools and booty of his lawless 

trade ; 
For force or fraud, resistance or es- 
cape, 
The crow, the saw, the bludgeon and 

the crape. 
His pilfered powder in yon nook he 

hoards. 
And the filched lead the church's roof 

affords ; — 
(Hence, shall the rector's congregation 

fret, 
That while his sermon 's dry his walls 

are wet.) 
The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping 

net are there, 
Doe-hides, and pheasant-plumes, and 

skins of hare, 

31 



Cordage for toils, and wiring for the 
snare. 

Bartered for game from chase or war- 
ren won. 

Yon cask holds moonlight, run when 
moon was none ; 

And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in 
hutch apart. 

To wait the associate higgler's evening 
cart. 

Look on his pallet foul, and mark 
his rest : 

What scenes perturbed are acting in 
his breast ! 

His sable brow is wet and wrung with 
pain. 

And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; 

For short and scant the breath each ef- 
fort draws. 

And 'twixt each effort Nature claims a 
pause. 

Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth 
stretched. 

His sinewy throat seems by convulsion 
twitched. 

While the tongue falters, as to utterance 
loath. 

Sounds of dire import, — watchword, 
threat, and oath. 

Though, stupefied by toil and drugged 
with gin, 

The body sleep, the restless guest 
within 

Now plies on wood and wold his law- 
less trade. 

Now in the fangs of justice wakes dis- 
mayed. — 

" Was that wild start of terror and 

despair. 
Those bursting eyeballs and that wil- 

dered air. 
Signs of compunction for a murdered 

hare? 
Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows 

arch. 
For grouse or partridge massacred in 

March?" — 

No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark 
with awe. 
There is no wicket in the gate of law ! 
He that would e'er so lightly set ajar 
That awful portal must undo each bar ; 



482 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



Tempting occasion, habit, passion, 

pride, 
Will join to storm the breach, and force 

the barrier wide. 

That ruffian, whom true men avoid 

and dread. 
Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, 

call Black Ned, 
Was Edward Mansell once, — the 

lightest heart 
That ever placed on holiday his part ! 
The leader he in every Christmas game. 
The harvest feast grew blither when he 

came, 
And liveliest on the chords the bow did 

glance 
When Edward named the tune and led 

the dance. 
Kind was his heart, his passions quick 

and strong. 
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his 

, song ; 
And if he loved a gun, his father swore, 
" 'T was but a trick of youth would 

soon be o'er. 
Himself had doiie the same some thir- 
ty years before." 

But he whose humors spurn law's 
awful yoke 

Must herd with those by whom law's 
bonds are broke ; 

The common dread of justice soon 
allies 

The clown, who robs the warren or ex- 
cise, 

With sterner felons trained to act more 
dread. 

Even with the wretch by whom his 
fellow bled. 

Then, as in plagues the foul contagions 
pass, 

Leavening and festering the corrupted 
mass, — 

Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual 
motives draw, 

Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; 

Their foes, their friends, their rendez- 
vous the same, 

Till the revenue balked, or pilfered 
game, 

Flesh the young culprit, and example 
leads 

To darker villany and direr deeds. 



Wild howled the wind the forest glades 
along, 

And oft the owl renewed her dismal 
song ; 

Around the spot where erst he felt the 
wound. 

Red William's spectre walked his mid- 
night round. 

When o'er the swamp he cast his 
blighting look. 

From the green marshes of the stagnant 
brook 

The biitern's sullen shout the sedges 
shook ! 

The waning moon, with storm-presag- 
ing gleam. 

Now gave and now withheld her doubt- 
ful beam ; 

The old Oak stooped his arms, then 
flung them high, 

Bellowing and groaning to the troubled 
sky, — 

'T was then, that, couched amid the 
brushwood sear, 

In Malwood walk young Mansell 
watched the deer : 

The fattest buck received his deadly 
shot, — 

The watchful keeper heard, and sought 
the spot. 

Stout were their hearts, and stubborn 
was their strife, 

O'erpowered at length the Outlaw drev 
his knife. 

Next morn a corpse was found upof4 
the fell,— 

The rest his waking agony may tell ! 

THE DEATH OF KEELDAR. 

Up rose the sun, o'er moor and mead ; 
Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ; 
Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed. 

Careered along the lea : 
The palfrey sprung with sprightly 

bound. 
As if to match the gamesome hound ; 
His horn the gallant huntsman wound : 

They were a jovial three ! 

Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, 
To wake the wild deer never came. 
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the 
game. 
On Cheviot's rueful day ; 



JUVENILE LINES. 



483 



Keeldar was matchless in his speed, 
Than Tarras, ne'er was stancher 

steed, 
.\. peerless archer, Percy Rede ; 

And right dear friends were they. 

The chase engrossed their joys and 

woes. 
Together at the dawn they rose, 
Together shared the noon's repose. 

By fountain or by stream ; 
i\.nd oft, when evening skies were red, 
The heather was their common bed. 
Where each, as wildering fancy led. 

Still hunted in his dream. 

Now is the thrilling moment near, 
<3f sylvan hope and sylvan fear, 
Yon thicket holds the harbored deer, 

The signs the hunters know ; — 
With eyes of flame, and quivering ears, 
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ; 
The restless palfrey paws and rears ; 

The archer strings his bow. 

The game 's afoot ! — Halloo ! Halloo ! 
Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue : 
But woe the shaft that erring flew, — 

That e'er it left the string ! 
And ill betide the faithless yew ! 
The stag bounds scathless o'er the 

dew. 
And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true 

Has drenched the gray-goose wing. 

The noble hound, — he dies, he dies, 
Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, 
Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, 

Without a groan or quiver. 
Now day may break and bugle sound, 
And whoop and hollo ring around. 
And o'er his couch the stag may bound. 

But Keeldar sleeps forever. 

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, 

Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise, 

He knows not that his comrade dies, 

Nor what is death, — but still 
His aspect hath expression drear 
Of grief and wonder, mixed with fear, 
Like startled children when they hear 

Some mystic tale of ill. 

But he that bent the fatal bow 
Can well the sum of evil know. 
And o'er his favorite, bending low, 
In speechless grief recline ; 



Can think he hears the senseless clay, 
In unreproachful accents say, 
" The hand that took my life away, 
Dear master, was it thine? 

" And if it be, the shaft be blessed. 
Which sure some erring aim addressed, 
Since in your service prized, caressed, 

I in your service die ; 
And you may have a fleeter hound. 
To match the dun-deer's merry bound. 
But by your couch will ne'er be found 

So true a guard as I." 
And to his last stout Percy rued 
The fatal chance, for when he stood 
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud. 

And fell amid the fray. 
E'en with his dying voice he cried, 
'• Had Keeldar but been at my side. 
Your treacherous ambush had been 
spied, — 

I had not died to-day ! " 

Remembrance of the erring bow 
Long since had joined the tides which 

flow. 
Conveying human bliss and woe 
Down dark oblivion's river ; 
But Art can Time's stern doom arrest. 
And snatch his spoil from Lethe's 

breast. 
And, in her Cooper's colors drest. 
The scene shall live forever. 

JUVENILE LINES. 

FROM VIRGIL. 

In awful ruins ^Etna thunders nigh. 
And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the 

sky 
Black clouds of smoke, which still as 

they aspire. 
From their dark sides there bursts the 

glowing fire ; 
At other times huge balls of fire are 

tossed. 
That lick the stars, and in the smoke 

are lost ; 
Sometimes the mount, with vast con- 
vulsions torn, 
Emits huge rocks, which instantly are 

borne 
With loud explosions to the starry skies. 
The stones made liquid as the huge 

mass flies. 



484 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



Then back again with greater weight 
recoils, 

While iEtna thundering from the bot- 
tom boils. 

ON A THUNDER-STORM. 

Loud o'er my head though awful thun- 
ders roll, 

And vivid lightnings flash from pole to 
pole, 

Yet 't is thy voice, my God, that bids 
them fly. 

Thy arm directs those lightnings 
through the sky. 

Then let the good thy mighty name 
revere. 

And hardened sinners thy just ven- 
geance fear. 

ON THE SETTING SUN. 

Those evening clouds, that setting ray, 
And beauteous tints, serve to display 

Their great Creator's praise ; 
Then let the short-lived thing called 

man, 
Whose life 's comprised within a span, 

To Him his homage raise. 

We often praise the evening clouds, 

And tints so gay and bold. 
But seldom think upon our God, 

Who tinged these clouds with gold. 

HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE. 

Air — Carrickfergus. 

Since here we are set in array round 
the table, 
Five hundred good fellows well met 
in a hall. 
Come listen, brave boys, and I '11 sing 
as I 'm able 
How innocence triumphed and pride 
got a fall. 
But push round the claret, — 
Come, stewards, don't spare it, — 
With rapture you '11 drink to the toast 
that I give ; 
Here, boys. 
Off with it merrily ; 
Melville forever, and long may he live ! 

What were the Whigs doing, when 
boldly pursuing, 
Pitt banished Rebellion, gave Trea- 
son a string .? 



Why, they swore on their honor fot 
Arthur O'Connor, 
And fought hard for Despard against 
country and king. 
Well then we knew, boys, 
Pitt and Melville were true boys, 
And the tempest was raised by the 
friends of Reform. 
Ah ! woe ! 

Weep to his memory ; 
Low lies the pilot that weathered the 
storm I 

And pray, don't you mind when the 
Blues first were raising. 
And we scarcely could think the 
house safe o'er our heads ? 
When villains and coxcombs, French 
politics praising. 
Drove peace from our tables and 
sleep from our beds ? 
Our hearts they grew bolder 
When, musket on shoulder. 
Stepped forth our old Statesmen exam- 
ple to give. 
Come, boys, never fear. 
Drink the Blue grenadier, — 
Here 's to old Harry, and long may he 
live ! 

They would turn us adrift, though rely, 
sir, upon it, 
Our own faithful chronicles warrant 
us that 
The free mountaineer and his bonny 
blue bonnet 
Have oft gone as far as the regular's 
hat. 
We laugh at their taunting, 
For all we are wanting 
Is license our life for our country to give. 
Off with it merrily, 
Horse, foot, and artillery, 
Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live ! 

'Tis not us alone, boys, — the Army 
and Navy 
Have each got a slap 'mid their politic 
pranks ; 
Comwallis cashiered, that watched win- 
ters to save ye. 
And the Cape called a bauble un- 
worthy of thanks. 
But vain is their taunt, 
No soldier shall want 



TO y. G. LOCKHART, ESQ. 



48s 



The thanks that his country to valor can 
give: 
Come, boys, 
Drink it off merrily, — 
Sir David and Popham, and long may 
they live ! 

And then our revenue, — Lord knows 
how they viewed it, 
While each petty statesman talked 
lofty and big ; 
But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whit- 
bread had brewed it. 
And the pig-iron dutyashametoa pig. 
In vain is their vaunting, 
Too surely there 's wanting 
What judgment, experience, and steadi- 
ness give : 
Come, boys, 
Drink about merrily, — 
Health to sage Melville, and long may 
he live ! 

Our King, too, — our Princess, — I dare 
not say more, sir, — 
May Providence watch them with 
mercy and might ! 
While there 's one Scottish hand that 
can wag a claymore, sir. 
They shall ne'er want a friend to stand 
up for their right. 
Be damned he that dare not, — 
For my part, I '11 spare not 



To beauty afflicted a tribute to give : 

Fill it up steadily. 

Drink it off readily, — 
Here 's to the Princess, and long may 
she live ! 

And since we must not set Auld Reekie 
in glory, 
And make her brown visage as light 
as her heart ; 
Till each man illumine his own upper 
story. 
Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force 
us to part. 
In Grenville and Spencer, 
And some few good men, sir. 
High talents we honor, slight difference 
forgive ; 
But the Brewer we '11 hoax, 
Tallyho to the Fox, 
And drink Melville forever, as long as 
we live ! " 

THE AUTHOR OF WAVERLEV. 

No, John, I will not own the book, — 

I won't, you Piccaroon. 
When next I try St. Grubby's brook. 
The A. of Wa — shall bait the hook, — 

And flat-fish bite as soon 
As if before them they had got 
The worn-out wriggler 

Walter Scott. 



NOTE 

TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, DRUMLANRIG CASTLE. 

Sanquhar, 2 o'clock, July 30, 1817. 

From Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are sleeping, — 
From Greenock, where Clyde to the Ocean is sweeping, — 
From Largs, where the Scotch gave the Northmen a drilling, — 
From Ardrossan, whose harbor cost many a shilling, — 
From old Cumnock, where beds are as hard as a plank, sir, — 
From a chop and green peas, and a chicken in Sanquhar, 
This eve, please the fates, at Drumlanrig we anchor. 

TO J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ., 

on the composition of MAIDA's EPITAPH. 

Dear John, — I some time ago wrote to inform his 
Fat worship oi j'aces, misprinted for dormis ; 
But that several Southrons assured me Xhej'anuatn 
Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Priscian's cranium. 
You perhaps may observe that one Lionel Berguer, 
In defence of our blunder appears a stout arguer ; 



48d 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



But at length I have settled, I hope, all these clatters. 

By a rowt in the papers, fine place for such matters. 

I have therefore to make it for once my command, sir, 

That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in my hand, sir, 

And by no means accomplish what James says you threaten, — 

Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog-Latin. 

I have various reasons of weight, on my word, sir. 

For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, sir. 

Firstly, erudite sir, 'twas against your advising 

I adopted the lines this monstrosity lies in ; 

For you modestly hinted my English translation 

Would become better far such a dignified station. 

Second, how, in God's name, would my bacon be saved 

By not having writ what I clearly engraved? 

On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better 

To be whipped as the thief, than his lousy resetter. 

Thirdly, don't you perceive that I don't care a boddle 

Although fifty false metres were flung at my noddle, 

For my back is as broad and as hard as Benlomon's, 

And I treat as I please both the Greeks and the Romans; 

Whereas the said Heathens might rather look serious 

At a kick on their drum from the scribe of Valerius. 

And, fourthly and lastly, it is my good pleasure 

To remain the sole source of that murderous measure. 

So, stet pro ratione voluntas, — be tractile. 

Invade not, I say, my own dear little dactyl ; 

If you do, you '11 occasion a breach in our intercourse. 

To-morrow will see me in town for the winter-course, 

But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, 

My own pie-house daughter's good prog to devour, sir. 

Ergo, peace ! — on your duty your squeamishness throttle, 

And we '11 soothe Priscian's spleen with a canny third bottle. 

A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, 

A fig for all dunces and Dominie Grundys ; 

A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east and west, sir, 

Speats and raxes ere five for a famishing guest, sir ; 

And as Fatsman and I have some topics for haver, he '11 

Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Peveril, 

Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you a 

Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your yanua. 



LIFE OF NAPOLEON. 

When with Poetry dealing, 
Room enough in a shieling : 
Neither cabin nor hovel 
Too small for a novel : 
Though my back I should rub 
On Diogenes' tub. 
How my fancy could prance 
In a dance of romance ! 
But my house 1 must swap 
With some Brobdingnag chap. 
Ere I grapple, God bless me ! with 
Emperor Nap. 



DOGGEREL, 

ON LEAVING MRS. BROWN's LODGrNGS. 

So, good by ! Mrs. Browrv, 

I am going out of town. 

Over dale, over down, 

Where bugs bite not. 

Where lodgers fight not, 

Where below you chairmen drink 
not. 

Where beside you gutters stink not, 
But all is fresh and clear and gay, 
And merry lambkins sport and play, 



THE DEA TH OF DON PEDRO. 



4'-'7 



And they toss with rakes uncommonly 
short hay, 

Which looks as if it had been sown 
only the other day, 

And where oats are at twenty-five shil- 
lings a boll, they say. 

But all 's one for that, since I must and 
will away. 

LINES TO SIR CUTHBERT 

SHARP. 
Forget thee ! No ! my worthy fere ! 
Forget blithe mirth and gallant cheer ! 
Death sooner stretch me on my bier ! 
Forget thee ? No. 

Forget the universal shout 
When "canny Sunderland" spokeout, — 
A truth which knaves affect to doubt, — 
Forget thee ? No. 

Forgetyou? No: — though now-a-day 
I 've heard your knowing people say. 
Disown the debt you cannot pay, 
You '11 find it far the thriftiest way, — 
But I? — Ono. 

Forget your kindness found for all room. 
In what, though large, seemed still a 

small room. 
Forget my Surtees in a ball-room, — 
Forget you? No. 

Forget your sprightly dumpty-diddles, 
And beauty tripping to the fiddles, 
Forget my lovely friends the Liddelh — 
Forget you ? No. 

LINES ON FORTUNE. 
Fortune, my Foe, why dost thou 

frown on me ? 
And will my Fortune never better be? 
Wilt thou, I say, forever breed my pain ? 
And wilt thou ne'er return my joys 

again ? 

No — let my ditty be henceforth — 

Fortune, my friend, how well thou 

favorest me ! 
A kinder Fortune man did never see ! 



Thou propp'st my thigh, thou ridd'st 

my knee of pain, 
I '11 walk, I '11 mount, — I '11 be a man 

again. 

THE DEATH OF DON PEDRO. 

Henry and King Pedro clasping 
Hold in straining arms each other ; 

Tugging hard and closely grasping, 
Brother proves his strength with 
brother. 

Harmless pastime, sport fraternal. 
Blends not thus their hmbs in strife ; 

Either aims, with rage infernal. 
Naked dagger, sharpened knife. 

Close Don Henry grapples Pedro, 
Pedro holds Don Henry strait ; 

Breathing, this, triumphant fury, 
That, despair and mortal hate. 

Sole spectator of the struggle. 
Stands Don Henry's page afar, 

In the chase who bore his bugle, 
And who bore his sword in war. 

Down they go in deadly wrestle, 
Down upon the earth they go, 

Fierce King Pedro has the vantage, 
Stout Don Henry falls below. 

Marking then the fatal crisis. 

Up the page of Henry ran. 
By the waist he caught Don Pedro, 

Aiding thus the fallen man. 

" King to place, or to depose him, 

Dwelleth not in my desire, 
But the duty which he owes him, 

To his master pays the squire." 

Now Don Henry has the upmost, 
Now King Pedro lies beneath, 

In his heart his brother's poniard 
Instant finds its bloody sheath. 

Thus with mortal gasp and quiver. 
While the blood in bubbles welled. 

Fled the fiercest soul that ever 
In a Christian bosom dwelled. 



THE END. 



Cambridge : Electrotyped and Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 



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